


Bleed To Love Her

by SidheMail



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Possibly More Intimate and Painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheMail/pseuds/SidheMail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif has been bitten by a vampire.<br/>Loki is 100% sure that he can cure her, and 65% percent sure he will live to tell the tale.</p><p>Somebody's got to sacrifice/If this whole thing's gonna turn out right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Metamorphosis

It was the scent that woke her.

It was hot. It was both sweet and savory. It was roast duck and ripe plums, and neither of these things. It was the most scrumptious thing that she had ever smelled, and her mouth watered. 

She opened her eyes, but she did not truly see her surroundings. She was blind with hunger. She found the source of the miraculous aroma by scent and touch alone. When she found it she did not hesitate. She sank her teeth into it.

Heat filled her mouth. It felt perfectly natural to drink instead of eat, she could not remember taking nourishment any other way. She felt her dry, empty flesh soaking up life and strength the same way that parched earth would drink down a thunderstorm. It felt as if every nerve and synapse in her body was firing at once, each one of them sending the same signal.

Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.

It seemed there could be no end to this ecstasy. It would go on and on, for as long as her heart still beat, for as long as the other heart still beat.

The other heart? Whose heart was it, and why did she feel every beat of it in her own body?

That hardly seemed to matter, strange though it was. Nothing really mattered but the heat and the pleasure.

Then she heard a soft voice speaking her name.

“Sif,” the voice said gently. “That is enough.”

Hearing her name made her pause, but it was only when she felt a hand smooth over her hair that she truly came back to herself.

She realized then that she was clutching a wrist in both of her hands. Her teeth were buried deep in that wrist, and the glorious taste in her mouth was familiar; copper and salt.

Her mouth was full of blood.

Instantly she began to gag and retch. A wooden bucket suddenly appeared in her lap, and as she vomited up every drop of blood in her belly, someone rubbed soothing circles over her back, and held her hair out of harm's way.

At last she wiped her mouth on the back of one trembling hand, and raised her head.

Loki was bending over her, his hand resting on her shoulder. He gave her a shaky smile.

“It's alright, Sif. You were...you're hurt, but I will make you better.”

“I am not 'hurt',” Sif managed to say in a raw voice. “I have been bitten, and the only thing that will make me better is a sharp object to the heart.”

Loki sighed, and took the bucket from her lap. “That's my Sif, always the optimist.” He dropped to his knees so that they were at eye level. 

“There is a way to stop the change. You will not become a Blood Drinker, I swear it.”

He smiled, and it was not his usual ironic smirk. It was a true, sweet smile that filled his eyes with light and took years from his face.

“I will take care of you, and you will be good as new.” He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with his right hand, and rested the left on her knee. It was then that she saw the jagged red wound in his left wrist.

“Loki, you idiot, what have you done!?” Her voice was half shout, half sob. “That was your blood, I drank your blood, and now we are both doomed!”

“No one is doomed. In order to turn me, you would have to drain me to the point of death, and then force me to take your blood. No harm has been done.” 

She could not take her eyes from the wound, the mixture of red blood and swiftly purpling bruise that marred his white skin. She thought of how badly she must have hurt him, and nausea rolled through her belly again.

“I am sorry, Loki,” she said. “I am so sorry!”

“Don't be. It does not feel as bad as it looks, I promise you.”

Sif nodded, but her throat was still tight. She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his wrist, and when she did she realized with a start that she did not recognize her surroundings. 

She was sitting on the edge of a bed with a head and footboard of plain dark wood. The bed was against the back wall of a small room with a wood floor and wood paneled walls, both aged to a soft grey. The room also held a bedside table, a dresser with a chipped porcelain pitcher and basin on top, and a window veiled by yellowed lace curtains. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth on the wall across from the bed. 

“Where are we?”

“Midgard, deep in the wilderness. This is a summer hunting cabin, but it is winter now, and there is no one within a hundred miles of this place.”

She understood at once. He had brought her to the most remote spot he could find, a place where there was no one for her to hurt.

Except him, of course.

She shook her head. “There is no cure, and you know it. Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you put an end to me?”

“There is a cure. I found it in an old manuscript that I unearthed in the library, just before we left home.”

“Then why have you not cured me, if you are able?”

Loki sat back on his haunches, and touched the wound on his wrist almost absently. 

“I have begun,” he answered quietly. “But it will take time.”

Sif felt her eyes widen. “You...me biting you is part of it?”

“It is all of it, actually. I must give you my blood willingly each night from the time you were bitten until the night of the full moon.”

She was shaking her head before he had even finished speaking. “No! We cannot risk that. It is a miracle that I did not kill you just now.”

“It was not a miracle. You did not wish to kill me, so you did not. All I had to do was ask you to stop, and you did.”

“This time, but who knows what will happen the next? And you realize the moon was full yesterday. Even if I don't drain you completely in one go, you will still loose far too much blood if I drink from you every night for a month!”

His chin took a defiant tilt. “I am quite strong, despite what you or anyone else might think. I am equal to this task.”

“I know that you are strong; I have never thought otherwise. But nobody is strong enough to live through what you are describing.”

“I am. I have to be.”

She felt tears begin to course down her cheeks. She had never felt so helpless or so afraid, not even in the iron grip of the Blood Drinker that had attacked her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please just put an end to me. Or bring me a knife or a stake and let me do it myself.”

He wiped away her tears with a gentle touch. “Let me ask you this. If it were me that had been bitten, and you knew that your blood could save me, would you not give it to me?”

She answered without a moment's hesitation. “No. I would not risk my own life for so small a chance. And it would not be worth even the possibility that the plague might spread. I would grant you a clean death.”

He looked at her for a moment, his face unreadable. Then his eyes warmed, and his lips twitched up at the corners.

“You are a slightly better liar than Thor, but then there are puppies more skilled at deception than he is.”

He took her hands in his.

“I will not see you lost if there is even the slightest chance that you might be saved. Despite what you say, you would do the same for me.”

She shook her head. “I would rather die than kill you!”

“And I would rather die than kill you. So I suppose that both of us will just have to live, won't we?”

She wanted to keep arguing, but suddenly it felt as though every last scrap of energy had drained from her body. It was too hard to think, let alone speak.

Loki caught her when she slumped forward. “It is nearly dawn. I'm afraid that for the time being, you will not have much strength during the day.”

He began trying to shift her back onto the bed, but she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. She half expected him to shove her away. He should. She was a dangerous, unclean thing, and she had already hurt him once.

But he did not shove her away. He hugged her, and stroked her hair.

“It is alright, Sif,” he whispered. “You are safe. You will be well again before you know it.”

She was crying again, and she hated it, but she could not stop. “I'm so tired.”

“I know. Lie back and rest now.”

She let him maneuver her back onto the bed, and he pulled a faded quilt over her. She looked up into his eyes, and in the light of the fire and of the oil lamp on the bedside table, they were impossibly green.

Sif had known Loki for all of their lives, and she would have said that she knew every expression that could pass through those eyes. She had seen them flash fiery rage, and sparkle with merriment. She had seen them fill with tears, and she had seen them fill with light.

But she had never seen them as they were now, so warm, so soft, so full of something that she could not name. He took her hand and folded it between both of his. 

“I will be right here, Sif. I will not leave you.”

She managed to smile up at him, though tears still trickled from the corners of her eyes. At last her heavy eyelids fell shut, and sleep flowed over her like dark water.


	2. Potantes Sanguines

Loki stayed perched on the edge of the bed with Sif's hand in his, for a very long time. 

He watched as the first pearly light of dawn filled the room, slowly ripening to gold. One long yellow shaft slid between the faded lace edged curtains, and crept across the bed, until it touched the palm of Sif's left hand. The sunlight stayed there in the hollow of her hand, for one moment, then two, then three.

Loki felt his entire body go limp with relief. The light was not burning her skin. She had taken his blood in time, and the change had not progressed far. 

At last he let go of her other hand, and crept quietly out of the room. 

He went into the cabin's little parlor It held a battered wooden desk, a single bookshelf stuffed to overflowing, and a leather armchair and a hideous sofa festooned with faded pink roses, both pulled as close to the hearth as safety allowed.

He opened the curtains on the window above the desk, letting in a flood of lemony winter sunlight. Beyond the window lay nothing but dark forest and frozen ground, both blanketed in white.

The cottage was humble, to say the least, but it would do. It contained this room, the bedroom, a tiny kitchen and an even tinier bath chamber. A few yards from the cottage lay a shed stacked nearly to the ceiling with firewood. The kitchen was well stocked with imperishables, and there was still some game to be found in the woods, if one were so inclined. There should be enough of everything to last three times as long as the month they would need to stay.

The only thing they might run out of, he thought with a wry smile, was blood.

He took a moment to examine his wrist in the sunlight. He could see why there had been such horror in Sif's face when she looked at it. The wound was not large, but it was red and angry. The skin around the ragged punctures was a nasty patchwork of purple and yellow bruise. He applied a little bit of healing salve to it and bandaged it, mostly to conceal it from Sif's view.

Next he made the rounds of the house, checking things. He made sure that there was enough firewood inside to supply both fireplaces, and the wood burning stove in the kitchen. Then he checked his wards.

There were two layers of wards on the house and the shed. One would repel visitors, both humans and larger predators like bears and wolves. 

The second layer would keep anyone with the Blood Drinker's taint in their blood from leaving the cottage unescorted. 

He had taken very special care with this one. Sif would not be able to exit through the door or the window, or even the chimneys. She would not be able to hack through the walls, ceiling or floor, either. Both of the wards were cast in such a way that they drew their power not from the caster, but from the earth beneath and around the cottage. They would last a century or more, even if he were dead.

According to his research, even if Sif turned completely, and drained every single drop of blood from his body, she would not be able to last long without making another kill. Confined in the house, she would starve to death within 24 hours. 

If what he planned did not succeed, the plague would die with Sif.

After he assured himself that all was well, he sat down at the desk, and drew from its drawer a small leather bound volume. The title on the cover was in an ancient Midgardian language. Potantes Sanguines.

Drinkers of Blood.

He had found it in the very deepest reached of Asgard's great Library, parts forgotten by nearly everyone but him. He had gone to seek it when he heard the first rumors that Blood Drinkers were again abroad in the Nine Realms.

It was a copy of a journal kept by a woman named Nuala, who had lived on the west coast of Ireland during that span of time that the people of Midgard quaintly referred to as the Dark Ages.

She was evidently a young woman of good family and education, for she could read and write, the latter quite articulately. When the journal began, she had just taken religious vows, and (to the apparent shock and horror of her family) taken up residence as a hermit in a lonely stone cell by the sea, not too far from the village where she had grown up. 

As far as Loki could tell, she was planning to embark on several years of solitary prayer and meditation. The first few entries spoke of these things, along with general observations about the weather and the flora and fauna around her. Horribly boring stuff. Then it all changed.

“Today, the village was attacked by a roving clan of Blood Drinkers. They were driven away, but not before many were wounded or killed. Only one person was bitten and yet survived. Finn, my Finn, was bitten, and I found him lying in the dust not far from my dwelling. He was pale as marble, his shirt soaked through with blood.”

Nuala went on to say that Finn had been her lover, and at one time she had been forced to choose between becoming a nun, and becoming his wife. Her religious calling had won out in the end, but only just. 

Then (as now) a Blood Drinker's bite was thought incurable. She knew that if anyone else from the village found Finn, they would drive a stake through his heart and burn his body. Without really pausing to think about what she did, she had dragged his unconscious body into her cell and locked him in. Then she went to seek help, from the only source she thought likely to give it.

“I went into the oak grove, where the Druids still worship their ancient gods and keep their ancient wisdom. I asked if any among them knew a way to save someone tainted by a Blood Drinker, and the oldest and most wise of them told me how it might be done. I must let Finn take my blood every night until the night of the full moon, and then he will be healed. Perhaps it is a sin to say it, but I feel that the Lord's wisdom is here, upon the lips of pagans. I will give him my blood, and God willing, he will be spared.”

For fifteen nights, Nuala gave her blood to the young man that she loved. She recorded the effects that this had on both of them, day by day. Loki has studied all of it carefully, and he now had a fairly good idea of what lay in store for him and for Sif. Though of course, since Nuala and Finn were human and mortal, and he and Sif we neither, they might not have exactly the same results. And that was not necessarily a bad thing.

He flipped to the last few pages of the book, and Nuala's final entry.

“I am dying, I know that now, but still I can do nothing but rejoice. Last night my love drank from me for the last time, and I felt the sickness lift from him. He is healed.”

“He has gone now to fetch the doctor from the village, but it is too late. I told him to go because I do not want him to see me die. I have neither fear nor sorrow now, and can go to my rest with a peaceful heart. My prayers have been answered, and I know that I will see my Finn again, someday, when he comes to join me in the house of my Father.”

That ended Nuala's writings, but the monk that had copied the original manuscripts had added an epilogue.

“Sister Nuala had indeed saved her beloved, but it was all for nought. When he saw that she had died, he dug her grave and laid her to rest with his own hands. Then he locked himself in her empty cell, and refusing all food, drink and comfort, he died.”

“May God have mercy on their souls, and on the soul of any man or woman who would dare to give their blood for love of another.”

Loki closed the book, and set it aside with a sigh.

The way that he saw it, he was in a much better position to start with than Nuala had been. She described herself as small and delicate creature, worn down by the life of an ascetic. He was strong, and full of immortal stamina.

Of course, he also stood to loose nearly twice the amount of blood that she had. 

He was doing his best not to think too hard about that. 

At least he knew that there was no danger of Sif curling up and dying if he did. They were friends, and she would grieve his loss, but he was not so dear to her that his death would break her heart beyond repair.

An image rose unbidden in his mind, of Sif white and limp in the arms of the Blood Drinker that had attacked her, his teeth buried deep in her neck. He trembled just a little now, remembering.

He stood, shaking the thought away, and went to retrieve his bedroll from where it lay behind the sofa. He took it back to the bedroom, and spread it out on the floor beside Sif's side of the bed. 

Before he settled down, he took a last look at her. She lay as he had left her, on her back with one arm lying on her belly, and the other outflung. Her hair lay spread out on the pillow, black as the spaces between the stars.

His blood had done her good, that was obvious. The dark circles that had haunted her eyes were gone, and color had returned to her cheeks. 

She looked peaceful enough, but just to be certain that she stayed that way, he cast a spell over her. It would insure that her sleep was restful and healing, and free of bad dreams.

At last he lay down on his bedroll. The floor beneath him was hard and cold, and though he was tired, sleep eluded him. His thoughts raced, chasing each other in endless circles.

He searched his mind, looking for some warm, soothing thought to carry him down into sleep. To his surprise, he thought of the moment when Sif had taken his blood. 

It had not been at all pleasant at first. It had hurt even more than he had thought it would when she sank her razor sharp teeth into his wrist. It had been horrible, too, to look into her eyes and see nothing in them of his friend. All that he had seen was hunger.

But then the pain had faded, to be replaced by a strang, spreading warmth. His eyes had fallen shut of their own accord, and he had felt himself begin slipping, drifting into a trance as she drank. For a single moment he had wanted to let that sweet comforting warmth drown him, to let her take from him everything that she needed, everything that he could give. 

That thought had only been with him for a heartbeat, fortunately. Then he had come back to himself enough to say her name and smooth a hand over her hair, and it was done.

Even after she had let him go, he had felt odd. The drowsy warmth had remained with him. If he had been able to do as he wished, he would have curled up in the bed beside her and fallen asleep.

But as it was, seeing Sif's eyes suddenly huge and wild with terror as she gagged on a mouthful of his blood had dispelled the last of the delicious languor.

He thought of it now. He wrapped it around him like a blanket.

And at last he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the following.
> 
> 1\. I know absolutely nothing about anything. Any resemblance between this story and things that make sense is purely coincidental.
> 
> 2\. Thank you for reading, and I hope that you enjoy it!!!!


	3. Bloodletting

Sif woke, and for one blissful moment she had no idea where she was.

Then it all came back to her. 

She closed her eyes, and tried to return to her dream. She could not remember any of the specifics of it, but it had been warm and golden and comforting.

Try as she might, she could not fall back to sleep. He body practically hummed with energy. At last she gave up and opened her eyes. The sun was setting, and the room was filled with soft evening light. 

She was alone.

She threw back the covers and started to rise, instinctively seeking Loki.

She found him, on the floor beside the bed. Specifically, her foot found his hand.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” she said as he woke with a grunt of pain. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what the answer to that question must be. Surely he would not want to share a bed with a burgeoning Blood Drinker.

“Never mind. I understand,” she said quietly.

Loki sat up and ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair. “Sif, we must have an understanding between us, or it is going to be a very long month. I am not afraid of you, and I am not disgusted by you, any more than I would be if I were tending you because you broke your leg. You are hurt, and you need my help. That is all.”

She studied him for a moment. He certainly seemed to mean it. There was no fear in his eyes, no tension in the line of his body. Of course, he was the Liesmith. There was no way to know for certain what he felt.

“If you have no fear of me, what are you doing on the floor?”

Now he did break eye contact, and fidget a little. “I did not know that it would be entirely...proper for me to share the bed with you,” he said stiffly.

“So, you did not wish to besmirch my maidenly honor?” 

He gave a slight, somewhat embarrassed smile. “Yes, something like that.”

Sif sighed and rolled her eyes. “Do not be ridiculous!” She flung back the covers, and patted the mattress beside her. “Get up here. You must be stiff as a board.”

“I am not stiff as a board. Stiff as an untanned hyde possibly.” He rose and slid into the bed beside her, pulling the covers over his lap with a happy little shiver. As he did so, Sif eyed his bandaged wrist. He seemed to be moving it without difficulty, at least.

He was studying her, as well. “How are you feeling?” 

“Shockingly well, actually.” She reached up to touch the spot on her neck where she knew she had been bitten. The skin felt smooth and healed. “What of you? Are you feeling any ill effects?”

“Oh no, I feel quite well.”

Sif took his hand and squeezed it tight. “You must tell me if that changes, Loki. Promise that you will tell me if you hurt, or if you feel sick.”

“I will be fine. You must not fret about me.”

“I reserve the right to fret. Speaking of fretting, I did not have time last night to ask you about the battle. Was anyone else bitten? Did we route them?”

“It was a resounding victory. Each and every one of the Blood Drinkers was killed. You were the only one bitten, probably because you were the only one foolish enough to charge the leader of the clan.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She could see the leader in her mind's eye; tall and gaunt with a long, filthy dark beard, and eyes that burned like embers in his paper white face. She felt again his icy, unbreakable grip, and the agony of his teeth sinking deep into her throat. She could not quite suppress a shudder. “Who killed him?”

Loki's eyes widened. “You did, Sif. You don't remember?”

“No!” That was disappointing. “How did I do it? Did you see?”

“Yes, I saw it. When I found both of you, he was...he had drained you, and forced his blood on you. You were limp in his arms, and I thought you were unconscious. I was running toward you when I saw your hand move. You had pulled out the dagger you always keep in your boot, and plunged it into his heart, up to the hilt. Thor beheaded him afterward, just to make absolutely sure, but you killed him. You killed him when you shouldn't even have been able to life your hand. You will be a legend. Your name will be sung in the feasting halls long after your children's grandchildren are born.”

A legend. That had a very nice sound to it, indeed. 

“How did you manage to get me off of the battlefield? I thought we had all agreed that if any of us was bitten, the others would put an end to them on the spot.”

“Maybe you agreed to that, but I did not. We were very lucky, really. Only Thor and I saw you fall, and he was not about to put a stake through your heart. The only argument he put up was when I told him that he could not come with us. Truly, it was lucky for everyone involved that there were not more witnesses.” His hand tightened spasmodically around hers, and when he spoke again his voice was a thing of steel. “I would have killed anyone who tried to take you from me.”

Sif found that her mouth had gone cotton dry. She had to swallow before she could speak. “So you stole me away, then? Should I be expecting an armed party coming to retrieve me?”

Loki grinned, a familiar shimmer of mischief in his eyes. “No, I do not believe that we shall be having any visitors.”

“But if we are in Midgard, we must have come over the Bifrost. Heimdall...”

“We did not come across the Bifrost, and Heimdall knows nothing of where we are.”

Sif felt her jaw fall open. “What?!”

“There are other, more private paths between the worlds, if you know where to look for them. I learned some time ago how to make my way along the branches of Yggdrasil without Heimdall's assistance. And then I learned how to hide myself, and other people and things, from his sight.”

“Loki, that is amazing! You've managed to do something that no one else in the history of Asgard has been capable of. Why have you not told anyone?!”

He shrugged. “I do not know that I would like the world at large to know of my ability to evade Heimdall. As for the other, I do not usually find that people are very impressed by my magical accomplishments. Either they do not understand them, or they do see any importance in them.”

His tone was light, and if you did not know him, you would never hear the hurt that lay deep below their surface.

Sif knew him very well.

“I may not always understand the things that you speak of, but I know they are important. I know how fortunate Asgard is to have someone as wise and as powerful as you in her ranks.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was soft, and ever so slightly husky. “Thank you, my lady. Your regard means much to me.”

“You are welcome. I only speak the truth.” She found herself suddenly eager to change the subject somewhat. “Will you still be able to walk these hidden ways you've found if you are...compromised?”

“If I am ill, you mean? No, not even I am that clever. But I was clever enough to slip back to the palace after I brought you here, and I collected a few supplies and left a note for Thor. Two days after the full moon, he will find that note, and it will tell him our coordinates so that he can give them to Heimdall and come to fetch us back over the Bifrost.”

“Then you think you'll be really ill by the time that this is over, don't you?”

“I may be, or I may not. It simply pays to be prepared for the worst.”

The worst. Sif was in no way, shape or form prepared for the worst. “Tell me about this book, the one that told you of the cure. Who wrote it?”

“A woman of Midgard, long ago. She used this method to heal her lover, and she was successful.”

“Was she harmed?”

“No, not at all. That is to say, she suffered a few ill effects, but nothing she could not recover from.”

That was somewhat comforting. “What kind of ill effects?”

He shrugged. “The usual things that one might experience as a result of blood loss. But you must remember, she was human, and mortal. You and I are made of far sterner stuff.”

“How do you know that it will work for us in the same way that it did for them?”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a lop-sided smile. “It has worked so far. You haven't eaten me yet.”

She elbowed him in the ribs, hard. “Be serious, Loki! How do you know that I won't wake up tomorrow a..a thing? How do you know I won't tear your throat out while you sleep?!”

“You won't. And before you ask, I don't know how I know, but I do.”

Sif rubbed at the bridge of her nose, where a pounding ache had settled. “I am glad one of us is feeling serene about things.”

“I am quite serene, indeed,” Loki said, with a maddeningly cheerful tone. “Do you have any other questions for me, or have you finally run out?”

“I have one more. Whose house is this?”

For the first time he hesitated a moment before he spoke. “It is mine, actually.”

She felt her eyebrows rise to meet her hairline. “Yours? Surely you jest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It seems far too rustic for your usual tastes.”

“Not all of it is rustic. The bed is not, particularly.”

That was true. She had noticed that the bed was larger than the size of the room seemed to warrant; it was nearly as big as his bed at home. And the mattress was a great deal more sumptuous than the sort of thing one would normally find in a little hunting cabin. 

“What in the world do you want such a place for?”

“Various things. I come here when I want to pursue my studies undisturbed. I have also been known to come here when I have taken some sort of action that proved unpopular at home.”

Ah, yes. She could see how a bolt-hole in a nice secluded corner of Midgard could come in handy, if you were prone to angering you kith and kin on a regular basis. She was opening her mouth to say so when she was seized by a sudden cramp. She gasped, doubling over in pain.

“Sif! What is it?”

“I...I don't know.” It was hard to speak, for suddenly her throat felt parched. Her head throbbed with pain, and her whole body began to shake.

“You need more blood.” Loki rolled up his right sleeve, and held his arm out to her. 

She could see it, running so close beneath the smooth skin. She could smell it too, rich and sweet and dizzying as the wine made from Asgard's golden apples.

She felt a strange tingling itch in her gums, and when she ran her tongue over her teeth, she could feel that her canines had grown unnaturally long and sharp. 

She wanted to sink her teeth into his arm more than she had ever wanted anything, but she could not move. Her whole body ached with hunger, but still she just stared down at his arm with saliva pooling in her mouth and tears pooling in her eyes.

She knew what the problem was. She had never been able to stand seeing Loki in pain.

Of course it was always hard to see a friend or a comrade-in-arms wounded, but there was something truly unbearable about seeing him hurt. She did not know why, but it had always been so.

She suddenly remembered a bright spring morning, long ago. She and Loki were children then, and she had dared him to climb one of the garden walls. He had done so, but then he slipped and fell from the top of the wall, landing on the hard ground far below. 

He had been extraordinarily lucky, really. Nothing was broken or seriously damaged. Sif had cried about it far more than he had. Her mother had held her and rocked her and tried to make her explain why she was so upset, but she would not be comforted.

It was Loki's mother who had finally guessed what was wrong. Frigga took her to see him in the healing halls, where he was having ice and poultices applied to his bruises. 

At first the sight of him black and blue had just made her wail louder. Then he had hopped down off the table, and thrown his arms around her.

“Don't cry, Sif!” he had said as he hugged her tight. “Please don't ever cry for me.”

“Sif,” Loki whispered now, wiping the tears from her cheek with a gentle touch. “Don't cry. You will feel better in just a moment, I promise.”

She shook her head wildly. “No! I don't want this. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Is that what the tears are for? Silly girl.” His voice was so tender, so full of warmth. “Seeing you suffer is far worse than a little prick of the teeth. Go on now, and do what you know you must.”

There was no horror in his eyes, no fear. Only sorrow. He was sad for her.

It was that that finally made her close her eyes, and sink her teeth into his arm.

As she had the night before, she thought of fruit. There was the familiar feeling of sinking her teeth into smooth skin, the give and snap as she broke the surface, the rush of sweetness filling her mouth.

It was sweet, but not sweet in the way of sugar, somehow. She was not even tasting it in the way that she was used to tasting things. It was more feel than taste, really. She felt every facet, every nuance of his blood as it was absorbed by her body. She could feel his blood becoming a part of hers, flowing through her heart.

As it had the night before, drinking Loki's blood filled her to the brim with an indescribable pleasure. This, she thought dimly, must be what a plant feels when it soaks up the light of the sun, or drinks in rain after months and months of drought.

Last time she had been nearly mad with hunger, blind to everything but her need and the sating of it. Now part of her still was, but another part remained rational, analyzing each new sensation that rushed over her. 

She drank and drank and drank. She did not allow herself to become totally lost in the pleasure, but she could not help but drift a little. She waited for Loki to say her name, waited for a touch or even a shove.

None of those things happened.

At last she realized that she had been drinking for a long time, and the arm she held in both her hands was limp and unresisting.

It was hard, so hard, but at last she drew back.

Loki was lying limp on the pillows, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and winced at the glossy crimson smear that was left behind.

“Loki?” 

He did not respond.

“Loki!” her heart hammering in her ears, she leaned over and shook him. 

He jerked as though he had been awakened from a deep sleep. 

“I'm alright, Sif, I'm alright!” he gasped.

He did not look alright His eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide. His seemed dazed.

“What happened to you? Did you faint? How are we going to do this night after night if I have already weakened you so much?”

He blinked slowly, as if struggling to keep his eyes opened.“Slow down, woman. You are talking faster than I can think, just now. I did not faint, and I don't think loss of blood is telling on me yet. I just feel a bit … odd. I think that when you drink from me, I fall into some sort of trance. It happened last night too, though I think you were too preoccupied to notice. It will pass, in a little bit.”

Sure enough, after a few minutes passed his eyes cleared and he seemed to perk up. 

“See there,” he said with a smile. “No harm done.”

She doubted that, but at least tonight when she looked at the wound she had left, it did not look nearly as bad as it had the night before. There was no bruising, and the wounds themselves were simply neat little punctures, almost as small as the pricks left by a needle.

“Two nights down,” Loki said brightly. “And only twenty-six more to go!”

Sif had the distinct feeling that they would prove to be the longest twenty-six days of her life.


	4. Our House

There were, Loki reflected, certain perks associated with the current situation.

One of them was waking up next to Sif. 

After she had fallen asleep at dawn, he had puttered around the house briefly, and then joined her beneath the covers. She had insisted that he sleep in the bed with her, but he had felt strangely shy about lying down beside her while she was still awake. 

Now he was lying by her side, not touching her, but close enough to feel the warmth of her sleeping body, and to inhale the lemon verbena scent of her.

He had fallen asleep just a little after sunrise, and then awakened around noon, judging by the slant of the sunlight coming through the window. He was not quite ready to fall asleep again, but he felt too tired and comfortable to rise. 

There was no need to get up, anyway. There was nothing that needed to be done, no one that needed to be seen. There was something rather splendid in that.

There was also a delicious, luxurious element to daytime sleeping that he had always enjoyed. He stretched a little, wriggled his toes contentedly, and then rolled onto his side.

The view from this angle was quite pleasing.

Sif was also lying on her side, facing him. She was snuggled beneath the quilt, her hand resting beside her cheek on the pillow. He took a moment to admire her slender, long fingered hands, her creamy complexion, the dark fans of her lashes, and the way the sunlight shone on the sleek waves of her hair.

Sif, when awake, was nearly always an imposing creature. Whether she was wearing armor or a ballgown, she was larger then life. He had seen her stare down royalty across a banquet table, and he had seen men larger and better armed than she turn and flee from the look on her face.

But now as she lay asleep in a soft sunlit glow, she was not that person. She was more like the little girl who had cried when he was hurt, or the woman who had wept at the idea of giving him pain, even if it would stop her own suffering.

He loved the fact that she could be all of those things, and so much more. 

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to stroke her hair, to feel her sleep-warmed skin beneath his palms.

He was gazing at her, fantasizing about about what it would feel like to bury both of his hands in her hair, when she stirred and opened her eyes.

He felt a moment of stark, unadulterated horror. She was about to discover him staring at her while she slept. He wondered in a dim, shell-shocked sort of way if she could see what he he had just been thinking reflected in his eyes.

If she could, it did not seem to trouble her much. She flashed him a dazzling, drowsy smile. 

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied softly.

“Can you not sleep?” Her eyes darkened a little with worry. “Is your arm bothering you?”

“No, not at all. I was asleep, I've only been awake for a few minutes.”

“Good, you need your rest.” She studied him for a moment in silence. 

“Loki, do you find something about my person distasteful?” she asked at last.

“What?! No! Why would you ask that?”

“You are on the very edge of the mattress. One wrong move, and you'll be on the floor. I thought perhaps you objected to the way I smell.”

“You smell wonderful.” That was not what he had meant to say, but the words seemed to leap off of his tongue. Sif often had that effect on him, making his thoughts fly into disconnected bits.

“Why, thank you! You smell quite pleasing, as well. Perhaps you should come closer, all the better for me to sniff you.”

He laughed at that, he could not help it. He also left his precarious perch on the edge of the bed, and scooted closer to her. They were nearly touching. He rolled onto his back and pulled his arms in close to his body to prevent it.

Sif sighed. She was quiet for a few moments.

“Do you remember the summer of the spider?”

“How could I ever forget?” He could feel a grin stretching his lips.

When they were small, Sif had been nearly as fearless as she was today. There had only been one thing that could send her fleeing in terror.

Spiders.

At the beginning of that long ago summer, she had thrown back the covers of her bed, and there smack in the middle of her mattress, had been a spider. A spider the size of her palm, with a thick coat of spiny black hair, and gleaming red eyes rolling maniacally above its huge, clicking metallic teeth.

Or that was how she described it, anyway.

Clearly her bed was no longer habitable. Surely the giant spider had a wife and children hidden in the sheets, just waiting to feast upon a supper of tender little girl flesh. There was only one thing to be done.

Sif had taken up sleeping with Loki. 

Every night her mother would bid her goodnight, but Sif insisted that she did not want to be tucked in, she was far too old and sophisticated for that sort of thing. As soon as her mother left the room, she would slip out of it as well, and go to curl up in Loki's bed. Every morning at dawn she would sneak back to her own chamber. 

That had been one of the best summers of Loki's life. He could still remember the way that his heart lifted when he heard the sound of the door opening, followed by the whisper of bare feet on carpet. Then Sif would throw back the covers, and cuddle close to him.

At last her mother had discovered what was going on, and she put a stop to it at once. For weeks afterward, he had tossed and turned, unable to sleep without his friend beside him. 

“I have always wondered why you turned to me, and not Thor. He seems the natural choice for a valiant protector of little girls.”

“I am not really sure. I just wanted you. I felt so safe beside you, with your arms around me.” 

He was not quite sure what to say to that, and Sif fell silent. She was quiet for so long that he thought she had fallen asleep again.

He startled she slid close to him, and threw one arm and one leg over him, just as she had done when they were children.

He was stiff with shock for a moment, but then he put his arms around her and held her close. He rubbed a gentle hand over her back until he felt her relax completely, and her breathing settled into a deep, peaceful rhythm.

There was something that he had never told her about that long ago summer. He had quickly discovered a spell that would repel spiders, and had cast it over all of the places that Sif was likely to frequent, but he had not told her. He didn't want her to return to her own bed.

Even unto this day, the anti-spider spell was one of the spells that he cast most frequently. He cast it every time they pitched a tent or entered an inn. He had cast it over this cottage without pausing to give it thought. 

He could not protect her from everything bad in life. There were, for instance, no spells that he knew of that could drive away a Blood Drinker. There was no spell that could turn back every blade or every arrow. 

But at least there would be no spiders. 

He shifted a little, settling Sif more comfortably against him. She made a small contented sound, but did not wake.

I will make you well again, he thought. You feel safe in my arms because you are safe. I will not let you go.

No matter what happens, I will not let you go.

 

When Sif woke again, the last blush of sunset was fading from the windows, and she was lying in the bed alone.

Her memories of the daylight hours were oddly fuzzy and opaque. Normally the only things she remembered in that way were banquets in which the ale had flowed freely.

She was fairly certain that she had awakened at some point, and that she and Loki had talked, about spiders, of all things. She had dreamed of spiders, but in her dreams they were pink and fuzzy and had wanted to hug her. That was rather odd.

She also had the vague feeling that she had draped herself all over Loki. She could not really remember what his reaction to that had been. Clearly he had not flung her out of the bed, or anything of that nature, but she could not recall whether or not he had seemed pleased with the situation. 

What she could remember was her own contentment. It had felt so good to lie there in his arms, with the soft whoosh of his breathing and the steady sound of his heartbeat to lull her to sleep. It was juvenile and foolish, but at that moment as she lay nestled beside him in a warm bed, in a room full of curtain-muted winter sun, she had felt as though nothing bad could happen to her. The cold grasp of the Blood Drinker, the pain of his bite, the fear and horror she had felt when she had realized she must take Loki's blood, all of those things had faded. They felt like something she had been told or read about, the unfortunate events of another life.

Now, like the darkness, it was all creeping back, and she was alone to face it.

With something a great deal closer to desperation than she would have liked to admit, Sif rose from the bed and went to find Loki.

The first thing she encountered when she stepped into the parlor was a scent both delicious and familiar. She followed it to the kitchen.

The kitchen door was slightly ajar, and she could hear Loki singing behind it. She paused for a moment to listen.

He was singing a bawdy tavern song, one that Thor was fond of. She had heard it a million times, but never in so fine as voice as the one singing it now. At last she pushed open the door.

Loki stood in front of the wood stove in the corner, stirring a pot on top of it. He was clad in the sort of plain black linen tunic and trousers that he normally wore to sleep in at home, and his feet were bare. His hair was unrestrained, and he had not forced it to lie flat, as was usually his custom. It was curling a little in the stove's heat. When he heard the door open, he looked up and smiled in a way that made her heart catch.

“Good morning, Glory. Or perhaps good evening, Primrose would be more accurate.”

She could not help but return his smile. “Good evening to you, as well. What are you cooking?”

He gestured toward the rickety little table in the corner of the room. “Have a seat, and you'll soon find out.”

She sat, and he set a steaming bowl in front of her. She had already known what it was, just by the scent. She had but to take a whiff, and a thousand happy campfire memories filled her mind. It was Loki's rabbit stew, and it was one of her all time favorite meals.

Loki (surprisingly) and Volstag (unsurprisingly) were the best campfire cooks. Thor and Hogun were adequate, but uninspired. Fandral always seemed to weasel out of cooking duty, and Sif herself was banned on account of her ability to burn water. This meal was one of the most frequently requested, whenever they were traveling together.

Sif tucked into her supper with gusto and without thought. When she raised her head, she found Loki looking at her with relief written clearly in his eyes. 

“You're hungry for something other than blood,” he said. “That is a very good sign.”

“I cannot imagine not being hungry for this.” She studied him as he ladled out a bowl for himself and sat down across from her. “I suppose I must not have damaged you too much, if you felt well enough to chase rabbits.”

“I am not even the slightest bit damaged.”

She hoped that was true, but she doubted it. Loki's complexion was never ruddy, but it seemed to her that he was somewhat paler than normal. Her eyes were drawn again and again to the two sets of bandages on his left arm.

“Stop grieving for me and eat your supper, you silly girl.”

She felt heat rush into her cheeks. “Was it that obvious?”

“I am afraid so.” He tilted his head to one side, and a smile played about his lips. “I am starting to suspect that under all of your armor and sharp objects there lies a soft heart.”

“I do not have a soft heart. I am hard as nails, all the way to the bone.”

Loki laughed, the sort of full throated, truly merry laughter that she seldom heard from him. 

“Say what you will, my lady, but I think that I have discovered your secret. Have no fear though, I will not tell anyone.”

They finished off the stew, and despite her offers to do it, he washed the dishes. As he did so, he sang another jaunty, filthy tavern song.

“What is this positively disgusting cheer about?”

“Why shouldn't I be cheerful? I have pleasant surroundings, good company and nobody to pester me. I am looking at this time as an extended holiday.”

“Oh, Loki,” Sif could not decide whether to laugh or cry. “You really are quite, quite mad, aren't you?”

“It has been suggested. More than once in fact.” He dried his hands on a dish towel and came to stand before her. He smoothed her hair back, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek. 

“Perhaps this is not an ideal situation, but I do have the best company in all of the Nine Realms with me, and for that I am grateful.”

The ghost of his touch seemed to linger against her skin. 

“There is no one else in all the world I would rather be here with than you,” she said.

 

The rest of the evening passed all too quickly. 

Loki produced a bottle of wine that hailed form one of Asgard's finest vintages, and had to have been liberated from the private cellars of the Allfather himself. 

“I needed it,” Loki said primly when she pointed this out. “Red wine builds up the blood, you know.”

They drank quite a bit between them, and talked of nothing and everything, as they had so often by campfires and the smoky hearths of inns, and the golden lamplight of home.

At last he reached across the table to take her hand. 

“It is time, my friend,” he said gently. “Past time, really.”

He was right. Tonight the hunger had not seized her violently as it had the night before. It had built slowly, and now she ached with it. Her head throbbed and her throat was parched.

“How can you tell?”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand in a tiny caress. “You've gone pale. I can see it in your eyes, as well. I wish that you would speak up before it starts to pain you, Sif.”

“It does not pain me,” she lied. But she let him pull her to her feet, and lead her back to the bedroom. 

Together they climbed into the bed, and Loki unbuttoned his right cuff and rolled up the sleeve.

Sif frowned. “Are you sure? Won't it be hard to move your arm?”

“No, I don't think so. You were so careful with me last night that I am hardly even sore today.”

She was glad of that, at least.

She fluffed the pillows behind him, and then pressed him back against them. She tugged the covers up over him, as well. When she looked up, his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Let me fuss over you. It makes me feel better.”  
“Then fuss to your heart's content, my lady.”

When he seemed to her to be comfortably settled, she took his right arm in both her hands, and sank her teeth into it.

She would not have thought it possible, but the pleasure was even greater this time than it had been the time before. Tonight she was not just tasting (or feeling) blood. She was tasting Loki's blood. She could taste in it his magic, his humor, his hot temper and his sharp tongue. She tasted his wisdom and his pride, and even the deep hidden fears that his pride concealed. She tasted the sweetness in him, that part of him that he so often tried to conceal, equating it with weakness.

Her lips curved against his smooth skin. I know your secret now, too, she thought. Beneath your biting words and your pride, you are hiding a soft heart.

Though it was a struggle, she took from him only what she needed to survive, and nothing more.

When she drew back, she found him as he had been the night before, limp against the pillows in swoon or sleep, or something else that she did not understand.

Tonight she did not try to shake him awake. Instead she crept quietly out the bed to fetch the roll of bandages and the tin of salve. She tended his wound, and he did not stir, the entire time. 

At last, just as she was tying off the bandage, his eyelids fluttered open. He flashed her a fond, drowsy smile. 

“Are you alright, Loki?” she asked softly.

He stretched contentedly, his smile growing even brighter. 

“I'm wonderful,” he sighed.

Sif snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“We have already established that I am a person of singular tastes.” He yawned hugely and stretched out on his side. “I think I am ready to bed down for the night. All that wine has made me sleepy.”

“Yes, I am sure it was the wine, and not loss of blood, or the unnatural thing that happens when I take it from you.”

“You are such a negative little thing.” He tugged at her sleeve. “Aren't you ready for bed? It's nearly dawn, is it not?”

“Yes.” She did not have to look out the window. She could feel the sun rising, weighing her down with weariness. She blew out the lamp on the bedside table, and settled beneath the covers close to him, but not quite touching.

He was quiet for so long that she assumed he was asleep. She startled a little when he spoke.

“Sif?”

“Yes?”

“I think I saw a spider earlier. It was green and furry. And it was calling your name.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and an answering one blossomed on her own lips. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Of course, as you know, spiders fear me.”

“You had better protect me, then.” She cuddled close to him, just as she had that afternoon. He hugged her close, his hand stroking her back.

They still fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, just as they had when they were children. And just as she had then, she felt safe. They were so far from home, but it did not feel that way now.

There were many terrible things about their situation, she thought as she drifted into sleep. But there were also some things about it that she did not mind, at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I solemnly swear I am going to start posting faster. This is a completed work, but lately I have been coming home from work and falling face down in bed instead of typing, but I know in my heart that my get up and go will get up and return.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me this far, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!


	5. Between Pleasure and Pain

It was on the seventh night that things began to get awkward.

To begin with, Sif seemed to have run out of places to bite. On the arms, anyway.

“Perhaps you should try my neck.”

Sif's eyes widened. “I...I don't think that I want to do that.”

“Why not?”

She hugged herself, rubbing the goosebumps that had appeared on her arms. “It'll hurt you.”

“Not any more than it hurt my arm, which is not much.”

She shook her head. Her shoulders grew rounded and hunched. It was as if she were shrinking before his eyes, and he hated it. He took both of her hands in his.

“This will be just like it was the second night, hard at first, and then easier. The hard part will be over so quickly, you'll see.”

Sif shook her head again, and gave a bitter little chuckle. “This is all wrong, you know. I should be the one attempting to comfort you.”

“Ah, but I do not suffer from your disability, so I do not require as much comforting.”

She raised an eyebrow. “ 'Disability?' Do you mean my need for a liquid diet, or my being stupid enough to run at something with sharp teeth in the first place?”

“Neither, actually. I am referring to you kind heart. I myself am lucky enough to have nothing but a lump of coal where that troublesome organ should be. Therefore I am obliged to see to the less fortunate.”

Her shoulders had relaxed a little, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Oh, I see now. Your heartlessness is obvious. I suppose you arranged to have me attacked by a Blood Drinker, just so that you could torment me by forcing me to take your heart's blood night after night.”

“You found me out! Well, I suppose you should try to thwart my evil plan by not being tormented, then.”

Sif gave a soft huff of laughter. “I will try my best.”

She scooted closer to him on the bed, and peered at his throat. She touched him near the jugular, her fingertips stroking over his skin.

“You are afraid, despite what you say,” she whispered. “Your heart is pounding.”

“I am not afraid, I promise you.”

It was true. His heart was hammering, but not with fear. 

“Oh, Loki,” she leaned even closer and petted his back gently, as though he were a frightened horse or a sick child. “My sweet friend, I am so sorry.”

Then came the prick of her teeth at his neck, and he was lost. 

The first time Sif had drunk from him, the feeling had been pleasant in a vague, dreamy sort of way. Each night thereafter that pleasure had sharpened and deepened, and now as she drew in gulp after gulp of his blood, the sensation was so sweet that he could hardly stand it.

It was as if a million wires ran through his body, each one tethered both to his heart and to the spot where Sif's teeth were fastened in his throat. Each time she swallowed the wires snapped taut, each one of them pulling at his heart.

It hurt, but oh, what a splendid pain it was, so hot and sharp and perfect that his body quaked as she drank.

If Sif ever noticed the way that he shook, she had not mentioned it. He suspected that she was as lost as he was when she drank.

He bit his lip to keep from crying out as wave after wave of sweet, shimmering agony crashed over him. 

At last the sensation began to fade, and her teeth slid out of his neck. He could feel his energy draining away as the reaction hit him, and he began to sink down into velvet darkness. 

Then Sif did something that she had never done before.

She licked him.

Her rough tongue slid over the still raw wounds in his neck, and it was as if he could feel it throughout his every nerve. Despite his best efforts, a cry was torn from his lips.

He felt Sif startle, heard her gasp. Before she could say a word, he grasped her wrists with a trembling hand. 

“Do that again!” His voice did not sound like his, even to his own ears. It was tremulous and husky. 

For a split second, she was still and silent. Then she did as he asked, this time drawing her tongue even more slowly across the tiny puncture wounds.

This time he cried out again, fireworks bursting against his closed eyelids as a climax shook him, rattling him down to the bone.

After what seemed an eternity, the aftershocks faded, leaving him trembling. He dragged his eyes open to find Sif bending over him, her her brows knit, her face scrunched with anxiety. When she saw that he was conscious, she expelled a relieved breath.

“I thought at first I had killed you,” she said. “Now I am thinking that I just showed you an exceptionally good time.”

Loki could not hold back a bark of laughter, even as he felt his face turning scarlet with mortification. “You could say that.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am fine.” He would have liked to sit up, both to show her that no harm had been done, and to make himself feel a little less vulnerable, but just keeping his eyes open was almost too much effort.

“Would you like me to fetch you a towel?”

Again laughter escaped him, this time a chuckle with a definite edge of hysteria to it. He covered his face with his hands. “No,” he said in a slightly muffled voice. “No, thank you.”

Magic would suffice, and he had seldom been so glad for it. At least there was one humiliation   
he could be spared.

Sif peeled his hands away from his face with a gentle touch. “I know you are embarrassed, but there is no need.”

“There isn't, is there? I suppose that was a dignified display, then. Quite normal.”

She held onto his hand, and entwined her fingers with his. She looked down at him with a lop sided smile. “Perhaps it was not what one might usually consider normal, but this is not a normal situation. And as for dignity, I think you had as much as anyone ever does.”

His only response was a mumble. All he wanted was to curl up at the edge of the bed and fall asleep, but Sif was full of questions.

“Is this new, or has it been happening right along?” 

“It started the second night, but this is the first time it has been so...intense.”

“I felt it in your blood for the first time tonight.”

“You felt it? How?”

Sif swallowed hard, and her eyes dropped to the coverlet. “I feel things from you, when I drink your blood. Emotions, and other things. I could...” she paused a moment, searching for the right words.  
“I could taste your pleasure.”

“I see.” He wondered what other secrets his blood might tell her. 

“Loki, tell me one more thing, and then I will be quiet and let you rest. Why did you not tell me how you were feeling?”

He tried halfheartedly to come up with a good lie, but he was too tired for that. He told her the truth.

“I did not tell you because I knew that you would find it distasteful.” As he spoke he kept his eyes on the window across the room, focusing on the faint glitter of snow in starlight.

She grasped his chin, and forced him to look at her. Her brows were knit again, but this time her face was thunderous. 

“You 'knew' that, did you? Do you read minds now?”

“No, but I know you, Sif. You are nothing if not wholesome. And the way I feel when you drink my blood is anything but.”

“Then you do not know me as well as you think.” Her fingers left his chin to stroke softly over his cheek. “For one thing, how could I be disgusted by something that you clearly cannot help?”

Her fingers moved again, stroking over his brow and smoothing back his hair. “For another, you must think me cruel indeed. Could you truly believe that I would rather think you miserable and in pain than know that you take some some enjoyment in what I am doing to you?”

“I had not thought of that,” Loki admitted.

“Well, think of it.” She tugged the blanket over him. “Tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep. You look exhausted.”

She slid beneath the covers beside him, and she pulled him back from the edge of the mattress and into her arms. She hugged him close, as had become their custom, and he did not argue.

He was nearly asleep when he heard her whisper in his ear.

“Besides, my Prince, I think that you confuse wholesome with boring.”

Her soft lips brushed against the wounds in his throat, sending a delicious little shiver through his limbs. 

Despite everything that had happened, he fell asleep with a smile curving his lips.

 

Sif stayed awake until long after the sun rose. Loki had told her the day before that the fact that sunlight no longer seemed to drug her was a very positive sign of her continued healing.

She almost wished for a little of her former languor now, just to let her fall asleep. She raised herself slightly on her elbow, just enough to get a glimpse of Loki's face.

He was undeniably pale now, and shadows were gathering beneath his eyes. She feared that despite his protestations to the contrary, the loss of blood was starting to wear on him.

Poor thing, she thought as she settled back down. She saw again the sadness in his eyes when he told her that he knew she would find him 'distasteful'. Without thinking she hugged him closer.

One one level, she understood why he might think such a thing. How many times in his life had people around him called him strange, unnatural, perverse? Sometimes even the people whom he loved the most, and who loved him the most, did not understand him.

She understood him better than some, but even she did not comprehend everything about him. That was part of his charm. He was in some ways a mystery to her, but he was a mystery that she could cheerfully spend the rest of her life unraveling.

She knew enough about him to know that she respected his wisdom and his power, and that she enjoyed his wicked wit like she enjoyed few other things in life. She knew that she treasured his friendship.

She treasured him.

She wished that she had been brave enough to tell him what she had really thought of his obvious ecstasy. Seeing it had touched something inside her, something already awakened by the taste of his blood on her tongue. 

He had been so beautiful with his face flushed and his head thrown back while he clutched helplessly at the quilt and cried out his pleasure. She wished she had told him that.

At long last, the soft rhythm of his breath and the steady thump of his heart lulled her to sleep.

She dreamed of him trembling beneath her, and calling out her name.


	6. Closer

The first part of next evening passed in much the way that all of the others had.

Loki had begun introducing her to the vast array of “imperishable” Midgardian cuisine that was stored in the cottage's pantry. So far she liked the noodles best, both the long ones neatly packed into little cups, and the shell shaped ones that came with shiny silver packets of cheese sauce.

She was still not quite sure about the Spam, though.

“Perhaps,” Loki said philosophically as he licked the last of the cheese sauce from his spoon, “I should try cubing the Spam and throwing it in with the macaroni.”

Sif shook her head. “You really are fond of it, aren't you? Do you even know what sort of beast it used to be?”

“No, I have taken great care not to find out.”

“That is probably best.”

He had not spoken of the events of the night before, so she did not bring it up. She was going to have to, though. There was something that she needed to ask him.

But that could wait till later. Right now she had a much less troubling question for him.

As soon as they had finished their supper, she jumped to her feet and snatched up the dishes before he could. “Loki, can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.” For once he did not fight her for the dishes. She was glad of it, but it also concerned her a little. He remained at the table, his cheek resting on his hand. He seemed tired.

She tried not to think about that.

“How is it,” she asked as she began to fill the sink with hot water. “That you and I have known each other since we were little more than babies, and yet we never seem to run out of things to talk about?”

“That is a good question. Perhaps we are both unusually fascinating people.”

Sif grinned at that. “I like this explanation.”

“It is a wonder you have not gone stir-crazy. I am willing to be that you've never spent 8 days indoors in all your life.”

“I think you are right. But I have you to entertain me, and the books you brought from home. And ...” she fell abruptly silent.

“And the occasional bout of sheer terror?” Loki finished for her. “Mortal fear does tend to keep the boredom at bay.”

“It does help,” she mumbled.

“I have an idea.” He rose from the table, and peeked out the window behind him. “Why don't we go for a walk? It's a nice clear night.”

“I...I can do that?” He had warned her not to try to leave the cottage, but the warning was not really necessary. Just coming close to the door gave her a strange feeling of foreboding that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She would have known that there were wards on the door to keep her from leaving through it, even if she had not been told.

“Indeed you can, as long as I am with you.”

Sif dried her hands on a dishtowel and came to stand beside him. She peered into his face. “Are you sure you feel up to a walk in the cold?”

“Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

“You seem worn out.”

“I am a little tired,” he admitted. “But a bit of fresh air is exactly what I need to revive me.”

“I am not sure that you should...”

He raised both hands and moved them together in an elegant, sinuous gesture. Suddenly he held a cloak in his hands, made of white velvet and lined in thick, sumptuous white fur. The hem was embroidered with intricate interlocking knots of silver thread, and the clasp at the throat shimmered with diamonds.

He shook out the cloak, and swirled it over her shoulders with a flourish.

“Come outside with me, Sif. I would like the moon and stars to see you.”

She could not refuse that. Loki donned his own much more humble cloak, and then she let him take her hand and tug her outside, into the hickory scented night.

The moon was a waning crescent, but the sky was crystal clear and the mingled light of the moon and stars shone upon the snow, leaving the scene nearly as bright as day, and filling the air with a pearly white radiance.

Sif drew in a lungful of the sweet, cold air, and tipped her head back to look up at the night sky. It was not as colorful as the skies over Asgard. There were no shimmering nebulae, or sparkling golden galaxies, only twinkling white dots of light. It was not so spectacular as home, perhaps, but she still found it beautiful.

Loki pulled her forward, down the path that led into the woods. “This way. I have something to show you.”

He led the way, and together they walked into the dark woods. He summoned a bright green ball of mage fire to light the way, and by it's glow she saw several pairs of golden lights flashing in the shadows between the trees. 

She squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Wolves.”

“There are many in these woods.” He looked down at her, and his smile was a little lupine. “I am the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms, and you one of the greatest warriors that Asgard has ever bred. Are we afraid of wolves?”

Her answering grin was as sharp as the crescent moon. “No, I don't suppose we are.”

They followed the footpath through the winter woods, over a small rise. Beyond the rise lay a clearing, and a lake that stretched into the horizon. The lake was frozen, its pale, opaque surface strewn with the reflections of stars.

There was a stone bench beside the lake. All of its sharp angles had been worn blunt by year after year of rain and snow. Loki sat on it, and pulled Sif down beside him.

“Now we wait,” he said.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You'll see.”

A few minutes later, she did see, when what looked like ribbons of green fire began to ripple through the night sky. Each swirl of flame was reflected in the silvered face of the frozen lake.

For several long seconds, Sif was utterly speechless. At last she turned to Loki, her eyes round with wonder. 

“How are you doing this?!”

He laughed. “I am truly flattered, but I am not doing it. It is a natural phenomenon in certain parts of Midgard, commonly called the Northern Lights. I thought this might be a good night to view them.”

“It is beautiful, Loki. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He squeezed her hand. “You are most welcome, Sif.”

They were both quiet for a while after that, watching the rivulets of emerald flame chase each other across the sky.

There was something familiar about the lights, but she could not quite place it.

Loki still had not let go of her hand, and she had no intention of letting go of him, either. She would have loved to slip her arm around his waist and rest her head on his shoulder, but she was not sure how well that would be received. She was still surprised that he allowed as much cuddling at bedtime as he did. When they were children he had been as physically affectionate as anyone, but as the years passed he became less and less inclined to touch, or to allow himself to be touched. 

She savored all of the contact between them, whether it was the feeling of his hand in hers, or the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked softly.

“No. For me to be feeling better, I would have to have been feeling ill in the first place, and I was not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you less tired, then?”

“Yes, I am quite refreshed, thank you.”

“Good.” She let a few more minutes of silence pass, and then she took a deep breath. 

“Loki, I want to ask you a question. But first I want your word that you will answer me truthfully.”

She felt him stiffen beside her, and he threw her a wary look. It took him a long time to respond.

“I give you my word,” he said at last. “On my honor as a Prince of Asgard, I swear that I will answer truthfully whatever question you may ask of me.”

Sif ran her tongue over dry lips. “Are you...what you feel when I drink from you, does it trouble you?”

Loki blinked at her in obvious shock. “That is what you want my word on?”

“Yes.”

“No, it does not trouble me. Not if it does not trouble you.”

“Are you sure? You don't feel at all...sullied?”

His eyebrows rose. “Sullied?”

She fidgeted on the bench, trying to find the right words. “I know that you feel pleasure when I drink from you, and pleasure is good. But I also know that it is a sensation of the body that you cannot help feeling. It is not something that you asked for, or that I asked permission to give. I am violating you, in a way.”

She stared down at the toes of her boots the entire time she was speaking, but when he laid a hand on her shoulder she was forced to look up into his eyes.

There it was. She knew now why the soft, warm green glow in the sky above them looked so familiar.

“Sif,” his voice was warm, as well, rich with a mixture of amusement and affection. “Are you asking if you've raped me?”

She would not have been surprised if her face steamed in the cold air. “Yes. That is what I am asking.”

He responded by pulling her into his arms, and crushing her against his heart. He buried his face in her hair, and when he spoke his voice was slightly muffled.

“No, you have not raped me, my sweet, foolish Sif. What am I to do with you?”

She hugged him back, feeling tears sting her eyes. “Stay with me. Be well and safe and happy, and with me always.”

She felt a soft chuckle vibrate through his chest. “I can do that. But only if you promise to do the same.”

“I will try,” she whispered.

 

It started to snow as they made their way back to the cottage. Fat white flakes fell, drifting in the silent, timeless dance that only snow knows. It dusted Loki's cloak, his dark hair, their entwined fingers.

A gnawing hunger grew inside her as they walked. A hunger for more than just blood.

When they reached the house, she hung her splendid new cloak carefully on the peg by the door, and pulled off her boots. Bu the time she reached the bedroom, Loki was already stretched out on the bed, waiting for her. His head was helpfully turned to one side, displaying the unblemished side of his neck. The vulnerable white sweep of his throat made her mouth water.

She crept into the bed beside him, just as she had for the last seven nights. 

This night was different.

This time when the blood filled her mouth, and filled her mind, and filled her heart, it held what she had already guessed that it would. She trembled beneath the weight of it, and tears seeped from beneath her closed eyelids.

Love filled her as she drank. Different kinds of love, different textures and flavors. She let the harmonious whole wash over her, and then she began to pick each one out, like the notes of a wine.

First was the pure, sweet love of a child for a cherished playmate. Then came the more mellow flavor of the love between adult friends, the easy peace and comfort of knowing a person through and through, and treasuring their faults as well as their virtues. 

After that came the crisp, bright taste of love for a comrade-in-arms. Love with respect, with admiration and trust. Love for someone who will never leave you behind, who will never let you fall if it is within their power to stop it. Here was the first hint of bitterness on the palette, for there is no love on the battlefield untouched by the knowledge of mortality, and a fear of the end.

The last note was deep and rich, smokey and full of spice. This was the flavor of the love that a man holds for a woman, and the taste of lust was hot and sharp as a naked blade.

After that the feelings became strangely distant. They still thrummed through her, but only as aftershocks. That puzzled her for a moment, until she realized that it was no longer his neck beneath her lips, but his mouth.

That was alright, she thought as her arms slid beneath his shoulders. That was just fine. 

She devoured him now the way that she had the first night. Again she was blind with hunger.

He was kissing her in return, his need as sharp as hers. He clung to her as though letting go meant death.

At first, anyway. Then suddenly he was pushing at her shoulders, and turning his head so that her lips fell on his cheek.

“Sif, stop, you must stop!” He sounded anguished, and that was what finally made her go still.

“Why should I stop? You want this. I can taste it.”

He trembled beneath her. “Yes, I want it. But you don't, not really. It is the blood making you think that you do.”

“Oh, Loki,” she looked down into his eyes, so wide and green and sad. “Yes, it was blood that made me want you. My first woman's blood to be exact. If I had known then that you wished to be more than a friend to me, nothing could have kept me from you. Nothing.”

She watched as his eyes grew even brighter, sheened with tears. When he said her name, it was almost a sob.

There were too many clothes, but some fumbling, and then some ripping, fixed that. He flipped them both over, and the weight of him on top of her made her give a small cry of joy.

She spread her legs for him, not caring how wanton she looked. She only wished that she could open even more for him, that she could feel everything that he was inside her.

Physically, he was prodigious. She knew that intellectually, for they had wrestled on more than one occasion. But knowing it was different than feeling it.

Her breath hitched as he entered her, and she felt her eyes go wide.

He stilled at once. “Is this too much? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” her voice came out low and rough, and she had to clear her throat. “No, I am not hurt. Just … impressed.”

“Oh,” he said, and blushed. He blushed, and she was so full of love for him that it made her ache. She longed for more than just her heart to be full to the point of pain, so she canted her hips upward and took all of him inside her. They both gasped.

When he began to thrust, the movements were shallow, tentative. She thrashed against him, wanting more.

“Harder!” she demanded. “Harder, Loki, I will not break!”

He laughed, and the sound was more than a little wild. “As my lady wishes.”

He thrust into her with all of his strength, and she shrieked her approval. 

As he slammed into her again and again, she braced her feet flat on the mattress and reached behind her to grasp the bottom of the headboard with both hands. It was that or claw him to ribbons.

When both of them were close, shivering upon the brink, she reared up and pressed her mouth to the wound on his neck. She nipped at him, and then sucked just a little, just enough for a taste. 

He cried out like a lost soul, and came. She followed him a second later, and her cry harmonized with his.

He kissed her one more time, a slow, sweet kiss. The he tumbled off of her, and they lay side by side, gasping for breath.

“Sif,” he said, his voice oddly faint. “I am trying not to be the sort of man who rolls over and falls asleep, but...”

“Hush.” She propped herself on one elbow, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Just rest. I know I've stolen all your strength.”

He was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, but he smiled. “You have not stolen it. It belongs to you, just like the rest of me. I love you, my Sif. I love you.”

She pressed her lips to his chest, above his heart. “I love you too, Loki. Sleep well.”

He let his heavy eyelids fall shut with a sigh, and she nestled close to him. Within a few seconds she was following him into sleep. 

I will not loose you, she thought as she drifted. Now that I've found you, I will not let you go.


	7. Heart's Blood

The next few days passed in a sweet, lazy haze. They only left the bed when absolutely necessary. When there was enough breath and energy left for it, they talked.

“So,” Loki said to her the next afternoon. “In the cold light of day, are you still pleased with your choice?”

Both the words and the tone were light, but his eyes told her that he was only partly in jest.

“Yes. There are few choices in my life that please me more. I have only one regret.” As she spoke she licked her thumb and attempted to scrub away a rusty bloodstain at the corner of his mouth. “I rather wish our first kiss had not been so...bloody.”

“Ah, but that was not our first kiss.”

“Yes it was! I would remember kissing you, Loki.”

“Mmm, so one would think, but evidently you do not. Let me jog your memory. Do you recall the son of the Elvin ambassador?”

She did. And then she remembered the kiss, and she covered her face and groaned. 

They had been little more than children that summer, and Sif had a girlish crush on the young Elf. There had been much mutual flirting, and she had thought that he felt the way that she did. Then on Midsummer's Eve she had caught him in the garden, in the arms of one of the Queen's handmaidens. 

In that moment she was horrified, and then mortified when he looked her boldly in the eye and smiled. She had done the first thing that occurred to her, which was to grab the nearest person and attempt to ram her tongue down their throat. The nearest person had been Loki.

He chuckled now, remembering. “You were still taller than I was, then, and already twice the warrior that I will ever be. When you grabbed me I thought I had played one prank too many on you. My life flashed before me.”

“Which explains why you shrieked like a girl and singed off my eyebrows with a blast of magic.”

“And it took so long for them to grow back. Blood notwithstanding, I greatly preferred our second kiss to the first.”

Sif leaned over him, her right hand resting over his heart. She could feel it's quickening beat against her palm.

“Practice makes perfect, you know. I think that we need to keep working on our technique.”

His lips slowly curved into a wicked smile. “That seems wise.”

He pulled her into his arms, and there was no more talking for some time after that. 

 

“Tell me what it feels like after I drink from you.”

They were sitting cross-legged in the bed with bowls of canned ravioli in their laps.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I thought I had made the way I feel when you take my blood fairly obvious.”

“I know how you feel while I am drinking from you, but I want to know how you feel afterward. When you swoon, or whatever it is that happens to you.”

He set down his fork and straightened, giving her an aggrieved look. “I do not swoon. Ladies in heavy velvet evening gowns who have danced one waltz too many swoon.”

“I see. What turn of phrase would you use for it, then?”

“Loss of consciousness.”

Sif rolled her eyes. “Very well then. What does it fell like when you manfully loose consciousness?”

He thought about that for a moment. While he was thinking, his eyes fell upon Sif's leg. She was wearing one of his tunics, thrown on haphazardly when she went to heat up their meal, and it covered her to the hip, but not much farther. His eyes followed the line of her leg, from the top of her thigh to the ivory curve of her foot.

He jumped when her fingers snapped just beyond the end of his nose. 

“Stop admiring my foot and answer the question.”

“Perhaps if you wish me to retain my focus, you should stop having such distracting feet.”

“I will, if you'll stop having such a distracting face.”

He felt himself grinning, and he knew what a lovesick fool he must look. He could not have cared less.

She set down her empty bowl and leaned over to pinch his arm. “Talk!”

“I don't suppose you've ever been in an opium den, have you?”

“I don't think so. Does one go into the opium's den to attack it?”

Loki laughed. “No, not quite. Opium is a Migardian drug, used for purposes both medicinal and recreational. Though I think such things have fallen out of fashion now, there used to be places where one went to imbibe in it, called dens. They ran the gambit from squalid to quite grand.” He smiled, remembering. “My favorite one was a delicious place, all velvet divans and fat silk cushions. One would inhale the drug, and then lie back on the cushions to sleep and to dream.”

“The way I feel after you drink my blood is very similar to the way I felt then, drowsy and relaxed and comfortable. I dream the way I did then, too, soft, luminous dreams.”

Sif was quiet for some time. She reached for his hand and toyed with it, rubbing her thumb over his wrist as though it were a worry stone.

“I think I remember this,” she said at last. “You would vanish for a week or two and then come back looking terrible. This opium could not have been good for your health.”

He shrugged. “I suppose it was not. Though it did not seem to be nearly as harmful to me as it was to the humans who imbibed in it regularly.”

She shook her head. “If that is so, I would hate to see what happened to them.”

“It was not pretty,” Loki admitted. “I was quite fortunate. I did not become addicted to it the way that they did.”

He startled when Sif leaned over without warning and pulled him into a savage hug. 

“You must not do such things anymore, Loki,” she said against his ear. “You must take good care of yourself.”

He hugged her back, feeling both sorry that he had upset her, and somewhat selfishly pleased with her concern. “No more hobbies that are dangerous to my health, I promise. Do you know what made me stop frequenting the opium dens?”

She let him go with a sigh. “You grew bored, and looked for something more dreadful to entertain yourself with?”

“No,” he said, smoothing back her tousled hair. “I had to stop because my opium dreams were always about the same thing. You.”

“I dreamt of kissing you, and of your skin beneath my hands like hot silk. I dreamt of holding you in my arms, and feeling your body beneath mine, welcoming me like the lights of home on a winter night. I couldn't bear it anymore, after a certain point. I couldn't come home and look you in the eye with my mind full of those dreams. But there was something that I never dreamt of, not even in my deepest, sweetest sleep.”

“And what was that?” Sif whispered. 

“This. The way you're looking at me now, the love in your eyes. I could not dream anything as splendid as this.”

She pulled his face to hers, and kissed him until he was breathless. 

“I dreamt about you, too,” she said when they finally broke apart. “For years I had the same dream.”

“Oh really?” He pulled the tunic over her head with trembling hands. “What happened in this dream of yours?”

She ripped off his trousers and shoved him back against the pillows. “We fucked in the stables until we frightened the horses and they stampeded.”

“Ah, well, that sounds good.” He went still for a moment. “Slepnir wasn't there, was he?”

“No, we always let him out to the pasture first.”

“Fantastic,” Loki murmured before her lips closed over his.

 

One afternoon as Sif stood at the sink filling a glass of water, Loki tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned, he grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers. 

Blood filled her mouth.

For a split second she was stiff with shock. Then she was pushing him up against the cabinets with a growl, her tongue searching his mouth for every last drop of sweetness. At last it was all gone, and she drew back, panting and dazed. Only his arms kept her upright.

“Did you know,” Loki asked cheerfully. “That the tongue is the fastest healing part of the body?”

“You...you should not have done that,” Sif gasped. “You must not waste your blood so.”

“That was not enough to do me any harm. And it certainly gave you a thrill, did it not?”

“Yes,” she licked her lips, savoring the taste of him that remained. “Oh, yes.”

“Then I consider this experiment a resounding success.”

She looked up into his eyes, feeling laughter bubble up in her throat. “You are completely mad, you know.”

“You tell me that quite often. I am starting to suspect that madness is your fetish.”

She took his hand, and began pulling him back toward the bedroom. “My fetish is actually tall, dark workers of magic with questionable sanity, if you must know.”

“And mine happens to be kind hearted warrior women. What luck.”

“What luck, indeed,” she said as she flung herself into the bed and dragged him down with her.

 

That night at bedtime, when Sif had finished her bath, she emerged into the bedroom to find Loki sitting cross-legged in the bed, waiting patiently (or perhaps impatiently, judging by the gleam in his eye) for their nightly ritual to begin.

“We're going to try something new tonight,” she said as she slid into the bed beside him.

“We are?!” 

She thought she should probably be worried by the way that his face lit up, but there would be time for that later. Right now she was busy.

“Lie down,” she instructed. He did, and she tugged off his trousers. He remained still and silent for that, and when she slipped her hands beneath his tunic to stroke his waist and the muscular planes of his belly, he did not say a word.

She laid a trail of burning kisses over his belly, down the jut of his hip-bone, and over the top of his thigh.

“You know,” he said at last. “This is trust in its purest form.”

Sif chuckled, her lips curving against his skin. “Have no fear. I have no intention of damaging anything that I will need later.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “That is good to hear.”

When she reached his inner thigh, she stopped. She loved this part of him, loved the paradox of soft, white skin stretched over muscles as hard and powerful as coiled steel.

She lavished kisses and caresses over her chosen spot, where the blood ran so close beneath the surface of the velvety skin. He was trembling long before she sank her teeth into him.

When he cried out her name, she was certain she could feel the earth beneath them shake.


	8. Sweeter Than Heaven and Hotter Than Hell

On the thirteenth day, reality began to intrude on the idyll.

Sif woke Loki in the middle of the afternoon. He did not have to ask if something was wrong. Her white face and wide, terrified eyes told him that tale. 

“What is it, Sif?!”

“It's my eyes, there is something wrong with my eyes.”

He sat up, feeling his pulse begin to thunder at the base of his throat. “Is the light hurting you?”

“No, nothing hurts, but I am seeing things...things that are not right.”

“What kind of things?”

She looked around the room, blinking owlishly. “The walls are glowing red and blue.”

His heart began to slow its wild pounding, and he found that he could breathe again. “Are there runes, too? Do they look as though they're creeping across the walls?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“There is nothing wrong with your eyes, Sif. You are seeing the wards that I've placed on the house.”

“I am? Why should that be?”

“Well, you've been drinking my blood for the past thirteen days, it must be that you've absorbed a little of my magic.”

“Oh,” she still looked mildly appalled. “Can you make it go away?”

“Certainly. Close your eyes.”

She did, and he spoke a word of power. When she opened her eyes again, the relief in them was obvious.

“Thank you!” She gave him a look caught oddly between awe and pity. “Does everything look that way to you all the time?”

“No, I only see it if I choose to.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She laid her hand over his, and when she did, she startled. She reached up to touch the back of her hand to his cheek. 

“Loki, you have a fever!”

That was genuinely surprising information. Now that he really concentrated, he realized that he felt just a touch of shivery chill at his core. Other than that, nothing else seemed amiss.

Sif was looking at him the same way that she might look at a dead kitten. He took her hand and gave her a gentle little shake. 

“Sif, don't look at me like that! So I have a little bit of fever. It is hardly the end of the world.”

“It is not 'a little bit', Loki. You're hot as a stove top! And I have known you all of our lives, and never once before this have I ever felt you anything but cool to the touch.”

“Perhaps that merely means that you have not been touching me enough.”

“Don't tease! This is serious. You're sick. I've made you sick.” Tears began to well in her eyes.

He leaned over to pull her close. “Oh no, stop that this second! I don't feel sick, not even a little. This happened to the woman who wrote my book, and no harm came of it.”

It was only a partial lie. Nuala had indeed developed a fever.

The part about it being harmless was less true. The fever was the first sign that her health was beginning to fail in earnest. She came down with it on the seventh day, and was dead on the fifteenth.

“Really?” Sif leaned against his shoulder and gazed up at him, her face starting to brighten. “It did not hurt her at all?”

In that moment, Loki was grateful for every lie that he had ever told. The petty ones, the cruel ones, the needless ones. He could not regret a single one of them. It was all of those lies that made him able to look now into the eyes of the woman that he loved, and lie to her without a single twitch.

“It did not hurt her at all.”

“Good.” She sighed, and tugged him back down to lie beside her. “I'm sorry I woke you when there was no need to panic.”

“Don't be sorry. I would have panicked too, if I were you.”

She settled herself in her accustomed place at his side, and as he pulled the quilt over both of them, he tried to shove all thoughts of the future from his mind. All that mattered was this moment, and in this moment they were safe and well and together. 

The future would just have to take care of itself.

 

“Loki! Stop that!”

He had slipped up behind her while she was washing the supper dishes, and spun her around for a kiss. She gave him her cheek instead of her lips, and wriggled out of his embrace.

He looked like a puppy that had just been struck by a beloved master. “Have you tired of me already?”

“Not in the least. But you have a fever.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what bearing does that have on the matter?”

“You aren't well, Loki. You need rest, not...horseplay.”

He grinned in a way that was not even slightly helpful to her self control. “Horseplay? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“By whatever name you wish to call it, there will be none tonight. Go take a nap. Or read for a while, whatever you want. Just rest.”

Loki tilted his head to one side. “This sounds slightly familiar. When I was a child and I was pestering my mother, she used to pat my head and tell me to go play.”

Sif patted his hand where it still rested on her waist. “Go play, Loki.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “Only if you will come and play with me.”

She grunted, and turned back to the sink. She was not going to win this battle if she kept looking into his twinkling eyes, and his bright, hopeful face.

He was not daunted. “You know, I've been thinking about what you said earlier. That I am always cool to the touch.”

“What about it?”

“Well, it has occurred to me that perhaps if I were hot to the touch, it might provide a different experience for you. One that you might find entertaining.”

She turned back to him, her eyes wide and her cheeks feeling as if they were on fire. “Loki! What are you...you must think I am some sort of beast!”

“I do not think any such thing. I merely think you adventurous, and I admire that about you.”

She shook her head. “But you're sick!”

“I am not! I feel perfectly well.” 

Sif groaned, and let her forehead fall against his chest. “Why are you trying so hard to make my life difficult?”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I do not mean to, truly, and if you really wish me to leave you be, I will. It's just that this time, in this place, is so precious to me. I hate to waste a moment of it.”

She heard the hidden meaning, the one beneath his words. All time was precious now. Despite all of his apparent bravado and his reassuring words, he knew how serious his situation was. 

“Don't be sad, my Sif,” Loki whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I did not mean to make you so. All I want to do is make you happy.”

She raised her head, and looked up into her eyes. “You do make me happy, Loki. You make me happier than I have ever been.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, long and deep and sweet. 

“You are right,” she whispered. “Time is precious. Happiness is precious. We must not let any of it pass us by.”

“We will not,” Loki said. He took her hand, and she followed him back to the bedroom. 

 

He had been right about what happened after that. It was like nothing else that had passed between them before.

Loki's body was never warm. Not in the middle of a summer day, or under a pile of blankets, or in the throes of passion. If there had ever been a time when she found it odd or unpleasant, she did not remember it. That was simply the way that he was.

It was not so now.

His lips were hot. His belly brushed against hers with almost scalding heat. His hands seemed to burn against her breasts, and her sides, and her hips when he grasped them tight.

When he entered her, she felt the same sort of delicious shock that one feels when slipping into a tub of hot water. She shuddered with pleasure.

When it was over, Loki just grinned at her for a moment or two while he struggled to catch his breath.

“So,” he said at last. “My hypothesis proved correct, did it not?”

Sif, still trembling with aftershocks, hid her face in her hands. “Oh, I am surely, surely damned.”

He gave a breathless laugh. “Blame it on me. I have corrupted you.”

“Is that what I am? Corrupted?” She rolled onto her side, and laid a hand over his still pounding heart. “Then I wish that you had corrupted me long, long ago.”

She looked down into his face, noting his pallor, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked weary and worn, and it was not all due to recent exertion.

“Oh, Loki,” she whispered. “We've wasted so much time, haven't we?”

“We have,” he admitted softly. “But it does not matter. We still have all the time in the world.”

“Of course we do.” She hoped that her smile looked much more certain than it felt.


	9. Killing Me Softly

It was somewhere around the seventeenth day that Loki realized he might possibly be dying.

There was no single eureka moment. The knowledge crept up on him in the same slow, gradual way that his health began to slip away.

He could feel his body slowing down. He had lost his appetite completely, and developed a raging thirst. Every day he felt a little weaker, a little more tired. All he seemed to want to do was sleep.

He had a suspicion about what was happening to him. He was loosing a large amount of blood, of course, but he thought that might not be the entire problem.

During his research into Blood Drinkers and their victims, he had read of many cases in which a person was bitten but not turned, and had not seemed to loose a fatal amount of blood, but died anyway. Usually these people developed raging fevers before their deaths. More than one healer had speculated that there was some kind of poison inherent in a Blood Drinker's bite.

Perhaps that poison had built up in him over time until his body could no longer deal with it. Perhaps it was affecting him now because he had already been weakened by the loss of blood.   
Whatever the mechanism, it was clear that his strength was failing, and if it turned out that he was indeed shuffling off the mortal coil, he would not find it surprising.

What was surprising was how good it felt.

Loki had never, in all his life, been a particularly peaceful person. His thoughts normally moved at a mile a minute, whether they were pleasant or unpleasant. His mind could be abuzz with things that made him happy, such as spells he wished to work or to invent, poetry he wished to write, places he wanted to go, scholarly matters to ponder, or ways to cause maximum irritation to his fellow man with minimum effort. Thoughts that he did not find pleasing were just as likely to swirl like a whirlwind through his head; anxieties and fears, uncertainties, thoughts of loneliness and sorrow.

The times when his mind was still, and he was truly relaxed, were few and far between. Part of the reason that he valued things like scholarship and the study of magic was that they required focus, which in turn required him to learn to quiet his chaotic mind. 

He had always envied people like Thor, people who could relax completely at the drop of a hat. He liked to tell himself that this was surely a symptom of empty-headedness, but he knew that was not the case. Those people simply possessed a skill that he did not.

But lately, he was starting to wonder if perhaps he had gotten the knack of it, after all.

He had never felt as utterly relaxed as he did now, in both mind and body. He felt no anxiety, no fear, only a deep, abiding peace. 

Nuala had written of this feeling, both in her final entry, and in several of the ones leading up to it. He felt as though that fact should worry him, but all of his attempts at worry failed quickly, and somehow he could not seem to be sorry for it.

On his seventeenth day in the cottage with Sif, sunset found him sitting at the desk beneath the window. He watched the lazy drift of snowflakes in the fading light, watched them settle on the bare branches of hardwoods, and the dark needles of the pine trees.

He wondered if the way he felt now was similar to the way that the trees felt when their leaves changed, and finally fell away. Perhaps the trees beyond the window were filled with this same drowsy peace when they surrendered to winter's soft white embrace.

Loki tapped his pen on the blank page of the journal lying open before him. There was a poem to be found there, in the trees drifting down into velvet darkness, but he was too tired to search it out. He was proud that he had even managed to drag himself out of bed at sunset without prompting. The past couple of days he had not awakened until long after light left the sky, and then only because Sif had shaken him awake to make him eat.

Behind him, he heard yet another in a series of dry creaks. The armchair by the fire was protesting Sif's constant fidgeting.

He was starting to wonder if she had absorbed all of his nervous energy along with his blood.

She could see the change in him, of course, and he knew that it frightened her. He tried to reassure her as much he could, but he knew that no words, not even the ones that issued from the Silvertongue, could prevent her from seeing the truth.

Any other woman might have wept ceaselessly, or hovered until he was half mad, but his Sif was not just any woman. She did not cling, she did pester. Instead, she seemed to have developed an almost uncanny ability to anticipate his needs. Glasses of water, cups of tea, and extra blankets all seemed to materialize the moment he wished for them.

A great deal of food that he had most emphatically NOT wished for appeared as well, but he could deal with that. Mostly by tipping it into small wormholes the moment she turned her back.

At last Loki shut his journal, and went to join Sif by the fire. He dropped to the floor at her feet and leaned against her knee. She began to stroke his hair, and he relaxed beneath her touch with a deep sigh.

“Did you give up on your poem?”

He cracked an eyelid, just enough to angle a suspicious glance in her direction. “You are starting to frighten me, woman. Are you becoming a mindreader?”

“No.” Her voice was soft, but he could hear the hint of a smile in it. “I am not reading your mind. I simply know what I am looking at. All you had was your notebook and pen, no other books or any of your magical toys, so you were not making notes of any kind, or working on a spell. And when you are journaling, you write quickly, with your head bowed over the page. Just now there was a great deal of pausing and staring. So, poetry is the only option.”

“You have made quite the study of my habits, haven't you?”

“Indeed I have. I am not much of a scholar, but you are one subject that I never tire of studying.”

There were only a few thoughts that could pierce his soporific haze and cause him pain. The foremost of these was Sif, and what would become of her if he were to die. 

He would last until she was cured, that he knew. Even poor little Nuala had been able to accomplish that. Besides, he simply refused to die while she still needed him. No matter what happened, he would hang on for eleven more nights.

He also thought sometimes of his parents and Thor, and the few other people that he would like to see, at least one more time. Perhaps he could manage to last for the two extra days required to make it home. 

His family would miss him (some members longer and more bitterly than others, perhaps) but they would be alright. His parents would have his shining elder brother to comfort them, and Thor would have them. 

Before they parted on the battlefield, he had asked Thor to look after Sif, if he did not survive her healing. It was a mere formality, of course, Thor could not love her more if she had been his sister in blood as well as spirit. But hearing him give his word that he would take care of her had made Loki feel easier.

Sif would be just fine without him. She was the strongest person that he had ever known, and she would forget about him in time. She would find someone else, most likely another warrior. Someone who was worthy of her.

Or at least someone more worthy of her than he was. Though that was not a very high standard to meet. 

He thought of Nuala's last written words, of her certainty that she would be reunited with the one she loved, in the land beyond death. He hoped that she had been, that they were together, their past suffering forgotten.

He did not have any hope of spending an eternity with Sif. Even if laying down his life for hers bought him entry into Valhalla, by the time she took her place there, she would surely be some other man's wife, and the mother of his children. Perhaps, Loki thought, if many thousands of years passed between this moment and that one, she would not even remember him at all.

He pressed his face against her knee to hide the tears that were suddenly beginning to wet his lashes. A small tremor shook him.

Sif's hand stilled on his hair. When she spoke, her voice was equal parts tenderness and concern.

“What's wrong, love?”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “I am just tired. Very tired.”

“Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the bed? It cannot be good for you to spend too much time on the floor, in the drafts.”

He pressed closer to her. He knew that he must look like a child trying to hide in its mother's skirts, but he could not manage to care. In this moment comfort was far more important than dignity. 

“I would rather stay here with you.”

Her hand rubbed over his back, and he felt her lips brush the top of his head. “I'll come with you.”

He managed to wipe his eyes on his sleeve surreptitiously before he lifted his head. “There is no need.” His voice sounded quite normal, his tone light, almost flippant. “You should not be forced to spend most of the night lying awake, staring at me.”

Sif smiled. Her topaz eyes were as warm and bright as the light of the fire hissing and crackling in the hearth beside her. 

“I do not think I will ever tire of staring at you, Loki.”

She stood, and took his hand to help him to his feet. He hesitated for a moment before he stood, just holding her hand in his.

When it came right down to it, he was a very lucky man, Loki thought as he gazed up at her. So many people slogged through a lifetime, day after day of meaningless motion, without ever finding something worth dying for.


	10. Revelations

Sif was worried about Loki. And not just for the obvious reasons.

He could not longer hide from her his weakness, his exhaustion. His steady physical deterioration was upsetting enough, but it was the change in his mental state that frightened her the most.

Half the time he seemed to be in a kind of daze. He did not complain about anything, to the contrary, he seemed eerily content. He spoke of feeling comfortable and at peace. Often when he told her this, there was a strange, far away look in his eyes. She had to resist the urge to shake him, to beg him to stay with her, and not to go seeking whatever it was that he saw, and she could not.

At other times, she sensed a profound, aching, sadness in him. When this mood came upon him, he would seek her out, wherever she was. He would not speak, but would simply settle himself as close to her as he could. She tried as best she could to comfort him, but it was hard when she did not know what was wrong. She asked him over and over what was troubling him, but his answer was always the same.

Nothing. Nothing was wrong, he told her. 

One evening she decided that she had had enough.

She had been sitting on the couch, pretending to read. Her eyes traveled over the same sentence again and again, not really seeing it at all.

Loki was still asleep, and had been all day. When he emerged from the bedroom, she greeted him with a smile. She could not have done otherwise even if she had wished to.

She missed him in the long hours when he lay asleep. Sometimes it was all that she could do not to wake him, just because she wanted to look into his eyes, and hear the sound of his voice.

He smiled back, but it did not reach his eyes. She could tell that the sadness was on him, even before he came to curl up on the couch beside her and lay his head in her lap.

He was almost impossibly hot beneath her hands, his fever worse than ever. He shivered, and she pulled the blanket that lay on the back of the couch over him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly. 

“Fine.”

Sif sighed. “Somehow I doubt that.” She stroked his hair, his pale cheek, the back of his hand where it lay on her knee. He was growing so thin. The long fingered, elegant hands that she had always loved seemed little more than skin and bone.

“Loki, why won't you tell me what is troubling you?”

He gave a listless shrug. “Because there is nothing to tell.”

She pulled his hair, a sharp tug that made him gasp and look up at her in shock.

“I don't know what I have done to give you the impression that I am an idiot, but I really am not. Do you honestly think I can't see that you're miserable?”

“I am not! At least not always.”

He had admitted to occasional misery, at least. That was something. “Just tell me. Is it something I've done or said? Have I hurt you somehow?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “That is part of it.”

“Then what is the rest of it?”

“Let me be, Sif, please! I am too tired for this. And my head hurts.”

There was a plaintive note to the last few words that broke her heart a little. She was quiet for some time after that, and she kneaded the nape of his neck and his shoulders until he relaxed completely.

“Very well,” she said at last. “I understand that you don't want to speak of it, and I will respect your wishes, if you tell me just one thing.”

“What thing?” His voice was exhausted, lead heavy.

“Is there anything that I can do to make you feel better?”

He smiled up at her, and this time his eyes brightened, too. “You are doing it as we speak. Just being with you makes me feel better. You take such good care of me.”

Sif shook her head. “I don't know how you can say that. I've hurt you so much. I don't know why you don't hate me. I would surely think I would be the last person you should find comforting.”

“I love you,” he replied quietly. “You make me happy. You always have, and you always will.”

“Oh Loki,” she laid a hand on his pale cheek. “What am I to do with you?”

“Just love me,” he whispered. “That is all I need.”

 

The next morning, as had become her custom of late, Sif wandered the house while Loki slept. 

She never stayed away from him for very long, for she wanted to be close in case he woke and needed something, but if she did not have some movement, she felt she would go mad.

Over the last couple of days the weather had grown foul. Snow fell sideways, blocking out the trees. Nothing was visible through the windows but a nearly solid swirl of white, and wind howled around the eaves of the house. 

Even now, Sif would have given much to be able to step outside. They had been out of doors by night a few more times to view the northern lights, or just to sit beneath the stars (she had not been outside while the sun was up, for though the light did not hurt her when filtered by the windows neither of them was sure what direct sunlight might do to her) but for some time Loki had been too ill to leave the house.

What she longed for more than anything was to feel the sun on her face.

But that she could not have, so she wandered from room to room, back and forth in a restless circuit, like a beast in a cage. 

Today she peered out all of the windows, tidied anything that looked even remotely out of place, and finally made herself a pot of tea, more for something to do than out of any true desire for it. 

At last she headed back to the bedroom. As she passed the desk, she paused to run her fingers over the leather cover of Loki's journal. Beside it on the desk lay his precious book, his guide to curing the Blood Drinker's curse.

She glanced at it, and then double-taked. Before the words on the cover had always looked like gibberish to her, but now she could read it.

Drinkers of Blood.

Perhaps this was like being able to see the wards on the house, yet another gift that his blood had given her. Whatever the cause, she was glad of it. She had long been curious as to what the book contained, and reading it should provide her with some welcome distraction. She took the book back to the bedroom with her.

She crept silently into the bed, though she knew she really need not bother. Loki was normally a light sleeper, but lately he slept like a stone. He did not even stir as she settled beside him, opened up the book, and began to read.

 

Loki was awakened by the sensation of something heavy falling against his leg. His eyes flew open, and he sprang upright with a gasp.

He looked down to see Potantes Sanguines lying against his calf. Then he looked up to see Sif kneeling over him.

Something was clearly very, very wrong.

Her eyes were swollen, and fiery red. Her entire face was puffy, and clearly tear-stained. She looked as though she had been crying for hours.

“I read it, Loki.” Her voice was hoarse and thick with tears. “I read all of it.”

“Oh dear,” Loki said quietly.

“You lied to me, over and over and over! You kept telling me that both of them were unharmed. I would never had let you keep me here if I had known! I would have put a dagger through my heart first!”

“That was why I hesitated to tell you.”

Sif raised her right hand, and slapped him. She did not hold back her strength. His head snapped backward, and he felt a throbbing pain blossom in his cheekbone.

He realized how weak he truly was when tears filled his eyes, and he could not hold them back.

“You had no right! You had no right to keep the truth from me!”

“What else was I supposed to do?!” he shouted back. “Was I supposed to put a stake through your heart, or stand by while you became a raging, frothing beast?”

“What you were supposed to do was tell me the truth and let me make my own decision, Loki. You were supposed to tell me that it was likely I would kill you, before it was too late. It is too late now, isn't it?”

Loki sighed. When he blinked, he felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks. 

“I...I don't know.”

“Yes you do! You have all of the same symptoms that Nuala did.” Her voice cracked, and when she spoke again it came out as a rough whisper. “You're dying.”

“I don't know that, and neither do you. Nuala was mortal, and she was already worn down to nothing at the start. I am stronger than she could ever hope to be.”

“Yes, but you've lost twice the blood that she did, and been filled with twice the...the venom.”

He winced a little, remembering that the druids had warned Nuala of the danger that a Blood Drinker's bite could pose. Sif should never have had to read any of it, but he particularly wished she could have been spared that knowledge.

“We must stop this. If I stop drinking from you now, maybe...”

He summoned all of the strength that he has left to grab her by the shoulder and give her a hard shake.

“No! If we stop now, you will turn! We only have three more days left.”

“I don't care! You don't have three more days left in you!” She was nearly shrieking, her eyes wild. “I will not kill you, I cannot! Let me turn! Or put an end to me, or let me do it myself.”

“Sif, don't say that, please, I can't bear it.” He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it out of his grasp. Tears fell faster down his cheeks. His face hurt, and so did something deeper inside. 

“I will die anyway, if you do,” he whispered. “If you turn, I will not stop you from killing me. I doubt I would have the strength to fight you, even if I wished it. If you take your own life, I will follow soon after, either by using the same knife you did, or simply by lying down beside you and staying there until my heart gives out.”

Sif shook her head wildly, and threw her hands up in disgusted surrender. She leapt from the bed and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Loki followed as swiftly as he was able, but he was so very dizzy when he stood, and it took a few seconds for him to become steady on his feet again. By the time he reached the door, she had locked it.

He considered using a spell to open the door, but then he used another one, instead. With a clatter every sharp object in the house flew to him, and landed on the floor at his feet. He sorted through the pile and quickly assured himself that all of them were accounted for, which meant that none of them were behind the locked door with Sif.

When that was done, he let out a slow, shaky breath, and sank to the floor beside the bathroom door. He could hear her sobbing behind it.

He did not call out to her, or bang on the door. She had a right to her rage, he thought. If the situation were reversed, he would feel just as she did.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He could could feel his cheek throbbing in time to his pounding heart. He could also feel tears continuing to slide silent and steady down his cheeks. 

He would just rest hear for a moment, he thought. Just a moment or two, and then he would use his silver tongue to draw her out...

 

When he opened his eyes again, the room was no longer lit by the gray watery light of a stormy afternoon, but by the orange glow of the fire in the hearth.

Sif was bending over him, her hand on his shoulder. 

“Why are you on the floor?” she asked. Her voice was so tender that it made him ache.

“I grew bored with the bed.”

“I see.” She prodded the pile on the floor beside him with a cautious toe. “Was boredom what made you collect all of these?”

“Yes, I was playing with them, but I'm finished now.” He waved a hand, and the whole heap vanished in a flash of green flame.

“I hope you left the can opener. If not, it will be a long three days.”

He looked up into her eyes, his heart lifting. “Then you'll finish it?”

“Yes, I will.” She took his hands and pulled him to his feet, and then helped him to the bed.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I had some time to think,” she said as she tucked him beneath the covers. “I thought of how I would feel if I had poured out all of my blood to save you, and then you put a carving knife through your heart. I thought of what I would do then.”

“Curl up beside me and die of grief?”

“Yes, more or less.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and smoothed back his hair. “I am sorry, Loki. I'm sorry I shouted at you, and I'm sorry that I struck you. It's just that I have loved you so long, and wanted you so long, and now all of that dreaming has come true, and the thought of loosing you...”  
She stopped and bowed her head, swallowing hard.”

“I can't bear it,” she whispered at last. “I can't stand to see you like this, so drained of life, and know that I have done it to you. I went a little mad, I think. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. Can you forgive me for lying to you?”

“I can,” Sif whispered. “I would have done the same, if I had been you.” She bent to brush her lips softly over his. Her hand lingered on his cheek, her cool fingers soothing away the remaining ache.

“Don't leave me, my Loki. I don't want to go home without you. I don't want to go anywhere without you.”

He meant to say something that would comfort her, but what came out of his mouth was not really what he had intended.

“I loved you when you kissed me in the garden that night. Even as I was singeing your eyebrows off, I was in love with you. I was so jealous of that little Elvin pratt that I could have turned him into a pinecone and never looked back.”

Sif choked a little on her sudden burst of laughter. “There was no need to be jealous. He was never half so fine as you.”

He reached for her hand, his fingers entwining with hers. “I suppose what I mean to say is that I don't want to go anywhere without you, either. I never have. I will try to stay with you, I will try with everything in me. But only on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You must swear to me that you will drink from me until you are healed completely. Swear to me, on your honor as a warrior of Asgard.”

She held his hand in silence for a long moment, and he held his breath.

At last she lifted his hand, and pressed her lips to his palm. 

“I promise,” she whispered. “I promise.”


	11. Heartlines

The day after their fight, Sif woke Loki in the afternoon, in an attempt to make him eat. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her as he had every day, but when he did, he saw her own eyes go round with horror. 

“What is it?!” he demanded.

She just shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. She rose and went to open the top drawer of the dresser, from which she drew an ancient, partially cracked hand mirror. She handed it to him. 

He looked into it, and instantly saw the problem.

His eyes were no longer green. They had faded to a sort of watery, mottled color that might generously be called gray.

“I...I am sure it does not really mean anything. It probably will not be permanent, either.”

He looked up from the mirror to see Sif standing beside the bed. Tears shone on her cheeks. 

“Your beautiful eyes. I've taken them from you. I've taken everything from you, Loki.”

“You have not taken anything that I did not willingly give you. And I would give it all to you again.”

Sif just shook her head. 

 

Later, Loki announced with what he hoped was a normal, cheerful tone that he meant to go and take a bath. 

Sif gave him a suspicious look. “A nice, cool, fever reducing sort of bath?”

That was not what he had had in mind. Steaming, boiling hot, hot enough to melt the ice in his bones and make his teeth stop trying to chatter had been what he had planned. 

“Ah, yes! Yes, of course.”

“Then I'm sure you won't mind me coming with you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “As I am sure you have noticed, I am very fond of you. But I don't think that I'm quite up to entertaining at the moment.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I am very fond of you, but I am not looking to be entertained. I want to see that you don't boil yourself like a lobster, and also that you don't fall asleep and drown.”

He felt his shoulders slump. “But I want to boil myself like a lobster. Please? You can come along as a lifeguard if you like.”

She continued to glare at him, seemingly unmoved. 

“Please?” he let just a little of the desperation he felt color his voice. “I am so cold. All I want is to warm up. It won't hurt me, I know that it won't.”

That softened her a little. “Loki, I don't think...”

“Aren't you supposed to sweat out a fever, anyway? I'm sure I've heard that. Somewhere.”

He could see the moment that she gave up. “Oh, very well. But if you..melt or something, then it will be entirely your fault.”

“I can take that responsibility.” 

“I may want that in writing,” she said. But she rose and went into the bathroom. After a few minutes he could hear water running. 

She came to fetch him when the tub was full, and he was relieved to see the steam billowing from the surface of the water. He wanted to climb into the tub more than he wanted just about anything the world. But when he reached for the hem of his tunic to pull it over his head, he found himself pausing.

Sif raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“I am suddenly...a little shy.” he admitted.

“Shy? What on earth to you have to be shy about, you silly creature? I think we've both been naked more than we've been clothed, of late.”

“Yes, that is true, but throwing one's clothes off in the heat of passion is different than doing it  
with deliberation in front of an audience.”

“Mmm, I can see how that could be true. But you already know this audience appreciates that sort of thing, so have no fear.”

When he still did not move, she rolled her eyes. “Come along now, your water is getting cold. I will make you feel at ease.” 

She pulled his tunic over his head, and stripped him of his trousers and smallclothes. Then she raised herself upon her toes in order to kiss him.

This kiss lacked the sort of searing heat that normally flared between them, but somehow he did not mind. It was all tenderness, and comfort given and received. 

“Better?” she whispered when she let him go

“Yes, much better.” At last he stepped into the tub, and sank into the hot water with a sigh of contentment. For the first time in days, he felt warm all the way through.

He had closed his eyes, but he opened them again when he felt Sif slip her arm behind his shoulders. With her other hand she smoothed a hot washcloth over his neck.

“I thought you were just here as a lifeguard. I did not realize you were also a bath attendant.”

“I am a woman of many talents.”

He smiled at that, but he also let his eyes fall closed, letting the hot water soothe away the cold, and all the small aches and pains.

He was half asleep and already starting to wander in a dream, so when Sif asked gently if there was anything that she could do for him, he answered her in a way that neither of them expected.

“Wear red for me.”

“What?” 

“You must wear red. People will say it's foolish, that you look as though you're marrying Thor instead of me, but I don't care. You are so beautiful in red.”

He kept speaking, even as he drifted deeper into the dream. He told her of what he saw unfolding against his the backs of his eyelids.

“I want it to be in summer, Midsummer's Day, I think. Your hair will be loose down your back, and Mother will make you a crown of her roses to hold the veil. I will design the dress myself if I must, so that there will be no stays or tight laces that keep you from breathing, because I want to dance with you all night.”

It was only when she made a soft strangled sound that he truly woke, and opened his eyes.

“Loki, are you...did you just propose to me?”

He blinked up at her, still feeling a little dazed. “Yes, I think I did. How did it strike you?”

She leaned down to hug him close with both arms, not caring about the water that soaked her sleeves. Her voice shook when she answered.

“It strikes me well. Very well indeed.”

 

The twenty-eighth day dawned bitterly cold. The snow had stopped, but the wind was sharp and keening. The sky looked as white and soft as the snowy ground.

Loki was as colorless and faded as the scene outside.

Lately, when she drank from him, she would surface to find him asleep, and he would remain so until she awakened him. This time was no different. She drank from him just before dawn, and he slept the entire day away.

She stirred him a few times, just to make him take a few sips of water. He never came completely awake, and his eyes always fluttered shut again before she had even taken the glass from his lips.

When she held his hand, she could feel his pulse racing in his wrist, his poor heart thundering as it struggled to pump what blood he had left.

She held his hand in hers all day, and was still holding it well after dark.

She let him sleep until the long dark hours after midnight. She had the vague idea that perhaps if he could rest, it might allow him to regain a little strength.

But at last, she knew she could wait no longer. She shook him gently and called his name.

He opened his eyes and smiled up at her. She thought of all the times in their lives that she had awakened him in the morning, and seen that same smile. 

When they traveled with Thor and the Warriors Three, it was always Sif's job to wake Loki in the morning. He was never an early riser by choice, and the men claimed that when they tried to drag him out of his tent, they received nothing but snarling belligerence in return.

She had thought they were making that up, for he always greeted her with a cheerful word, and that same luminous smile. 

Now she thought perhaps he saved that smile, just for her.

“Hello,” Loki said.

“Hello,” she replied softly.

He looked around, and frowned. “It's close to dawn, is it not? Why didn't you wake me earlier?”

“Why would I? You are so exhausted, I thought you needed to rest.”

“I am tired, I cannot argue that. But you should not have had to spend all of these hours alone.”

Sif shook her head. “You must stop that. You must stop worrying about me.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Certainly. The moment you stop worrying about me.”

She lifted his hand, and brushed her lips across his knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

He was quiet for a moment, as though he were searching for the right words. “I feel...light. As if a great burden has been lifted from me.”

Light, Sif thought. What he probably felt was empty and drained. “Are you in any pain?”

“I am not, I swear it. I am just weary.”

“Loki, what will happen to you, when I take your blood tonight? 

“I don't know.”

“How can you not know? Surely you must know if you have the strength for this or not.”

He gave her a helpless look. “I have never died before; I don't know what it feels like. I...I know that I am weak, but I might have just enough strength left. I am sorry, my Sif. I wish I could tell you for certain what is to happen, but I cannot.”

“Don't be sorry, please. I am sorry. I am sorry about all of this.”

His fingers tightened around hers, just a little. She feared that it might be the best squeeze he could manage.

“We do not have much time before dawn, I know. And I think that whatever happens, knowing will be better than wondering and fearing. There are just a few things that I need to tell you. I wrote some letters, in case of the worst. I put them in the back of my journal. You'll see that they go to the proper people, won't you?”

She nodded, gnawing at her lip to hold back the tears that threatened to fountain from her. It was not fair to make him comfort her when he was the one suffering.

“Sif, there is something that you must know. Whether I go home with you or not, I do not regret what I have done. I would not give up this time here with you, or what has passed between us, for all of the time that exists, or for anything else. Do you understand that?”

A sob broke from her then, there was simply no holding it back. 

Tears welled in his changed, colorless eyes, and she knew that they were not for himself, but for her. That just made her sob harder.

She leaned down to press her face to his shoulder, and he stroked her hair as she wept. At last she regained a little of her control, and managed to stifle her tears.

“Would you do something for me?” Loki whispered.

She raised her head. “Anything.”

He smiled up at her, even though tears were starting to trickle slowly down his pale cheeks. 

“Kiss me,” he said. “Kiss me as though this is goodbye.”

She did. She kissed him, and she tasted the bitterness of their mingled tears. She tried to pour everything that she felt into that kiss, tried to show him through it a lifetime of friendship and of love.

At last, she let him go.

“I love you, Loki. I love you.”

He reached up to cup her cheek with a hot, trembling hand. “I love you too, my Sif.”

She gave him one last shaky smile, and then she bent her head to his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a thing to choose/What a thing to do.  
> But in some way, I'm there with you/Up against the wall  
> On a Wednesday afternoon.
> 
> ;D


	12. Assunder

The Bifrost deposited Thor just a few yards away from a tiny cabin, at the edge of a great dark wood.

The day was cold, but fair. The sky above was a spotless blue, and the sunlight reflected almost painfully off the snow. 

There was smoke rising from one of the cottage's three squat chimneys. That was a good sign, but not conclusive one.

Thor tried to swallow with a cotton dry mouth. 

There was no reason that he had to come alone. He could have asked any of his friends to accompany him, or his father. But if Loki's plan had failed, he did not want either their friends or their father to carry that image with them for the rest of their lives.

Seldom in his life had Thor ever known true fear.

He did now.

He laid a hand on Mjolnir, where she hung at his belt. There would be no work for her here, but he took comfort in the contact.

At last he took a deep breath, and started toward the cottage.

He had only taken a few steps when the door of the shed beside the house opened, and Sif stepped out into the sunlight, her arms full of firewood.

She dropped the wood when she saw him, and began floundering toward him through the snow.

He met her halfway, and pulled her into his arms. He held her for one long, sweet moment, feeling her heart thunder against his. Finally he let her go, and asked the only question he had left.

“Loki?”

He looked into her eyes as he asked it, and the haunted look in them made a wave of sickness wash over him.

“He is alive, but just barely. I took his blood for the last time night before last, and since then I have not been able to wake him. We must get him home, Thor.”

Loki was alive. If he was alive, then the healers of Asgard would be able to mend him.

He followed her into the house, through the little parlor to the bedroom. When he saw Loki, he could not suppress his horror.

His always slender brother had grown gaunt. The only color left in him seemed to be the dark purple smudges beneath his eyes, and even his coal black hair was sprinkled with with white. 

“His hair changed last night,” Sif said softly. “I actually saw it happening.”

Thor went to Loki's bedside, and took his hand. He gasped at how hot it felt.

“Loki, can you hear me?”

If he could, he showed no sign of it. He did not even stir. 

Thor lifted him into his arms, and he felt impossibly light.

He turned to find Sif beside him, holding a leather bound book that he recognized as Loki's journal, and a splendid white cloak that he had never seen before.

“Is that all you wish to take?” He could see other belongings, both hers and Loki's, scattered around the room. 

“Yes. We can come back later for the rest.” She shook the cloak out and laid it over Loki, and Thor saw the way that she looked at him, the softness in her eyes that he had never seen there before. He understood at once that things between his brother and his best friend had changed.

Oh no, he thought. This was too cruel. Loki would have to get well again, he had to.

Together they headed for the door. Sif paused for just a moment before they left, her eyes sweeping the room as though she were saying goodbye to the little house, and whatever had happened there. 

Then they stepped outside, and Thor called out to Heimdall to open the Bifrost.

 

Clearly Thor had alerted everyone as to where he was going before he left, for when they entered the Healing Halls, chaos erupted. 

Eir, the senior healer, and all of her apprentices were poised there, and they began swarming over Loki, even before Thor deposited him on one of the healing beds. The King and Queen were there, too, and Sif heard Frigga give a small cry of horror when she laid eyes on her youngest son.

Sif lurked at the edge of the throng, trying both to stay out of the healers' way, and not to loose sight of Loki. Finally someone snapped the canvas curtain that surrounded the bed closed in her face.

She stood there for a moment, wanting to slip inside the curtain, but it did not seem that there was room beyond it for her.

And if she were being honest with herself, she had to admit that she was not eager to meet the eyes of anyone in Loki's family, just now.

Her cloak had been tossed to the floor in the madness, and she retrieved it. She still held Loki's journal clutched to her chest, as well. She took both of them, and retreated to a stool in the far corner of the room to wait.

After what seemed an eternity, someone finally emerged from behind the curtain. It was one of the junior healers, and she looked harried. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her auburn hair was falling half out of the bun at the nape of her neck. She bustled toward one of the supply cabinets on the far wall.

Sif leapt up and rushed to grab the girl's arm. “What news is there? Will be be alright?!”

The girl stopped and turned, and Sif watched her blue eyes turn icy. Her upper lip curled with disgust as she shook Sif's hand from her arm.

“No,” she said in a slow, measured monotone. “No, he will not be alright. He is dying. You have drained all of the life out of him, and filled his veins with poison.”

“We undressed him, you know,” the girl continued in a conversational tone. “Lady Eir needed to examine all of him. So we saw the marks that you left on him. ALL of the marks. We all saw what you...did to him. Now leave me be, so that I can help to see that he is at least comfortable on his deathbed.”

Sif fell back without a word, and let her pass.

She returned to her stool in the shadowy corner. When other healers emerged from behind the curtain on various errands, she did not try to stop any of them. No one seemed to notice her.

She had been sitting there for an hour or more when she saw Hrothgar, the captain of the palace guard, approaching her. She smiled up at him, for he was an old friend whom she had fought beside many times.

He did not return her smile. He looked pained and embarrassed, in equal measure.

“Lady Sif, I...I do not know quite how to say this. I have received a complaint about you.”

“A complaint? Oh,” she thought of the look of disgust on the young healer's face. “Do they wish me not to linger here?”

“Well, that is a part of it.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in obvious discomfort. “One of the healers has informed me that you have caused mortal damage to Prince Loki.”

“Ah,” Sif said softly. She saw now. “I am charged with murder and treason, then.”

Hrothgar winced. “I am sure there will be no formal charge. Actually, I thought that if I could speak with Prince Thor now, we could clear this up right away...”

“No, do not bother him now. Anyway, what you have been told is true. Loki is dying, and I am the cause.” She stood, folded her cloak neatly, and placed it on the stool, with the journal on top of it. “Please see that Thor is given this journal. There are letters in the back of it that are important.”  
Then she held out her hands, wrists together.

“I am ready to go now,” she said.

He laid a hand over both her wrists, and lowered them gently. “No, Lady. I refuse to shackle you. Just follow me.”

She threw one last look in the direction of the closed curtain, and then followed Hrothgar out of the room.

 

The cells in the dungeon were more pleasant than Sif would have imagined them. 

It was damp, of course, and dark, but the jailor had left an oil lamp on the floor near the cot in the corner where she currently sat. She had her very own pitcher and basin, and a chamber pot. The blanket folded at the end of the cot was fairly flea-free, and she had only seen a couple of rats. It could be worse.

Something had happened to her, after the little healer had told her that Loki was dying. It was as if something had broken inside her, and she had gone completely numb.

She had seen soldiers on the battlefield who had been sustained injuries to the spine, and suddenly lost feeling in the legs, or even all over their bodies. She wondered if one's soul had a spine, and hers had been broken. That would make sense.

She was leaning against the cold stone wall with her eyes closed when she heard the cell door creak open.

She opened her eyes to see Thor standing over her, his face caught somewhere between horror and bewilderment.

“I went looking for you. When you weren't in the Healing Halls I went to your rooms. I was growing frantic when I finally ran into Hrothgar. What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. She could hear the listlessness in her own voice when she spoke. “This is where I belong. I've killed a prince.” Something pierced through the numbness then, a single stab of pain. “Is he ...”

“No, he is still sleeping. And you did not do anything to him that he did not wish you to do.” Thor dropped to his knees and took Sif's hands in his. “I am so sorry, Sif. I should not have left you alone. I promised Loki that I would take care of you, and I have not done a good job so far. Come with me now, back to the Healing Halls. I know that he would want you with him.”

She shook her head. “No. I will stay here until I am tried.”

“Why?! What possible good can that do anyone? It would break Loki's heart if he knew that you were down here. Just come with me and..”

“I can't, Thor! I can't bear to sit there beside your parents while they watch their child die because of what I did to him. Don't ask me to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” Thor said as he rubbed her fingers soothingly. “Then at least go to your rooms.”

“No,” Sif whispered. “This is where I belong, and this is where I will stay.”

“Then I will stay here with you.”

“Your parents need you now, Thor. I will be fine.”

Thor shook his head. “I hate this, Sif. I hate every part of it. Please don't make it worse than it has to be.”

“I want to be here. It is the only place I want to be, just now.”

“What if Loki should wake, and ask for you?”

“Then you know where to find me.”

At last Thor stood, slowly, as though he carried a huge weight on his shoulders. “I will come back, if there is any change. And I will not let you stay down here for any length of time.”

Sif just nodded. Her head hurt, pain throbbing in time with her heart.

Thor gave her one last agonized look, and left the cell.

 

Some time later, Sif heard the tell-tale creak of the cell door again. This time Eir entered.

Sif felt her heart begin to thunder. “Is Loki..”

“There has been no change. I have come to have a look at you, since I hear that you are unwilling to come see me.” She took a ginger seat on the cot beside Sif, and laid one hand on her forehead, and the other over her heart. She closed her eyes for a moment in concentration.

“Very good, you are quite well. Except for the pounding headache you have, but I can fix that.” She began digging in the little leather satchel that she had brought with her.

“There are also a few things that I want you to know. The first is that I have had words with the young lady who took it upon herself to have you hauled off.” She raised a hand when Sif opened her mouth to protest. “I do not want to hear about how she did her duty and you deserved it. Even if you had, she still should have spoken to me first.”

“The other thing that I wished you to know is that your Loki is not in any pain. He is just in a deep, peaceful sleep.”

It took Sif a moment to find her voice. “Thank you for telling me. Do you think...is there any chance that he might wake?”

“No,” Eir answered gently. “I do not believe so. He is extremely weak. I will be surprised if he survives the night.” 

“I see,” Sif whispered.

“Child, wouldn't you like to come back with me? It might bring you some comfort to sit with him.”

“No, thank you.” She very much doubted that anything could bring her comfort, even if she had desired it.

Eir sighed. “Very well. Thor asked me to tell you that you may leave any time you wish. No one will try to stop you.” She handed Sif two small glass vials of fluid, one clear, and one a pale pink. “No matter what you wish to do, drink the clear one, it will get rid of your headache. If you are determined to stay here, drink the pink one as well. It will help you to sleep, which you desperately need, but it will not leave you groggy if you are awakened suddenly. I presume you wish to be awakened, if there is any change?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She tossed back the contents of both vials, and returned them to Eir.

The healer looked at her for a long moment, as though there was something else she wished to say. 

Sif startled when Eir suddenly pulled her into an embrace. 

“He would not have let you do anything to him that he did not want done. He knew the risks, and this is what he wanted. All that you can do for him now is try to take this gift that he has given you, and use it to the fullest. You must not waste it sorrowing for him.”

Sif just nodded, not trusting her voice. 

At last Eir let her go, and left the cell. After she was gone Sif curled up on the cot and pulled the thin, scratchy blanket over her. Both of the potions began to take effect quickly. Within minutes her head stopped hurting, and she began to drift toward sleep.

She gave some thought to blowing out the lamp on the floor, but then she thought of how many spiders must be lurking in the dark corners of the dungeon.

Spiders, and no one to protect her from them.

She had thought that she had shed every tear in her, but a few more managed to slide down her cheeks, as she slipped into sleep.


	13. Reports Which Are Greatly Exagerated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There now! See? Fluffy showers!!!

Loki drifted gently into awareness. 

He had no intention of actually waking up. He was far too weary and far too comfortable for that. His eyelids felt so heavy that he could not even imagine opening them. He was lying somewhere soft and warm, and the only thing he really wanted to do was let go of this little sliver of wakefulness, and slip completely back into sleep.

But there was a single sensation that troubled him. It was a feeling of stiffness, as though he had been lying in the same position for much too long. With a tremendous effort, he rolled onto his side, and even managed to stretch a little. The pillow was cool against his neck and cheek, the blanket that covered him to the shoulder was warm. He gave a small sigh of perfect contentment, and began to drift back into the restful darkness.

Then all of the shouting began.

“Loki!” A familiar (and at the moment very unwelcome) voice thundered far too close to his ear. “Brother, are you awake?!”

“No,” Loki whispered in reply. He managed to find the strength required to put a hand over his ear.

“Loki,” this was another voice, female, and with a stern tone of command to it. “You must open your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I do not want to stay with you,” he mumbled. “I don't think I like you.”

“I am sure you don't now, but you will later.” Then came the extremely unpleasant sensation of someone rapping on his cheek with two fingers, then tugging at it.

That at last forced him to open his eyes, while at the same time flailing weakly at whatever was attacking him.

He nearly shrieked.

There were four faces pressed close to his, all of them leaning so far toward him that they nearly blocked out the light. He had to blink several times before he could see any of them clearly enough for recognition.

Thor was there (closest to his left ear, of course,) and Eir, and his mother. Even Odin was there, peering down at him worriedly with his one good eye.

But someone was missing.

“Sif,” his voice sounded like a frog's croak. “Where is my Sif?”

“I will get her for you,” Thor said.

It was all coming back to him now, that last night in the cottage, Sif, tears shimmering on her cheeks in the firelight as she bent to take his blood one final time.

“Why is she not here?” He began struggling to sit up. “Where is she? Is she alright?” A spike of pure terror shot through him, sending his heart thundering against his ribs like a caged beast. “Did we fail? Did she..”

“She is well, Loki,” his mother said, her voice as gentle as her touch on his shoulder. “Lie still and rest, my dear.”

“If she is well, then why is she not here?” He began to feel an altogether different sensation of the heart, something rather like it beginning to crack open. “She left me?”

“No, no,” Frigga soothed. “She wanted to be here, it is just that she...she had to...”

“She's in the dungeon.” Thor said.

Loki turned slowly to look at his brother. “My ears must not be fully awake yet. It almost sounded like you said she was in the dungeon. But that cannot be right, seeing that I asked you to take care of her with what could very well have been my dying wish.”

Thor went scarlet to the roots of his bright hair. “It is a long story, you see she...”

“Don't bother.” With that, and a flash of green light, Loki vanished.

 

Sif was awakened by something tickling her nose.

She opened her eyes to see a dark object fluttering in her face. Without even thinking, she batted it away.

Only when it began to drift gently to the floor beside her did she see what it was; a great black moth.

She felt a pang as it settled to the damp flagstones. It was beautiful, and she wished that she had not swatted it.

Then there was a flash of light, and suddenly it was not a moth lying there on the floor beside her cot, but Loki.

He did not look well, not by any stretch of the imagination. His face was utterly white, and the smudges beneath his eyes were plum colored. He lay there gasping as though he had just run a marathon, and his face shone with sweat.

But his hair was again a rich midnight black, and his eyes were vivid green, gleaming like emeralds in his pale face.

Sif could not move. This is it, she thought in a vague, distant way, I've gone mad.

Loki blinked up at her for a moment, clearly struggling to catch his breath. 

“You,” he panted at last, pointing at her with a shaky hand. “Are a fair weather friend. You only like me when I'm conscious.”

She reached down and poked tentatively at his shoulder. He felt solid enough.

He raised an eyebrow.

That finally broke her stupor. In a second she was on the floor beside him, pulling him into her arms. He felt cool beneath her hands, the fever gone at last.

“Eir said you were dying! She said you wouldn't wake up, that you wouldn't live through the night..”

“Eir is a wise woman, but she cannot know everything. Evidently she does not know that where you are is the only place I ever want to be.”

“Loki, my Loki, I thought I had lost you!” She hugged him as close and tight as she could. “You'll get well now, won't you? How do you feel?”

He reached up to smooth the hair from her eyes. “Of course I will. And at the moment I feel as though I could use a nap. I think that I would like to take it somewhere more hygienic and less moist, though. I feel certain that you will explain what you are doing here, and why Thor allowed it to happen, yes? And perhaps it will even be an explanation that does not require me to shrink him to a tiny size and then place him in a jar with a scorpion.”

“It was not his fault, no scorpions are needed.”

As if on cue, Thor picked that moment to burst into the cell, with Eir and a couple of healers bearing a stretcher on his heels.

“Loki, are you mad?!” he roared.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Loki asked irritably. 

Then he fainted.

 

It took hours of wheedling, whining, threatening and cajoling on his part, but at last Eir took pity, and allowed Loki to leave the Healing Halls in favor of his own bed.

“This will simply make my life more difficult, since I will have to come here to tend you,” she said with a sigh. “Are you pleased with yourself?”

“Very,” Loki replied with a smug, slightly feline smile.

Eir could not help but laugh. “Good.”

Sif sat by the bed and held his hand as the gaggles of healers fussed around him, poking and prodding, setting up equipment and laying out medicines. His mother sat close by, and Odin and Thor pulled up chairs near the foot of the bed. 

Sif noticed with a smile that Odin kept a hand resting on Loki's ankle.

After a while Loki hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her closer so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. 

She had not had time to ask him if he wished to reveal the change in their relationship to his family, but this was an answer. She glanced up to find Frigga smiling at her, and she returned the smile, just a little shyly.

Between them, she and Loki told the story of what had happened in the cottage (omitting certain details, of course).

“I am very glad now that you did it, but that was an incredibly foolish thing to do,” Thor said, shaking his head.

“It was,” Sif agreed.

“I do not mean saving your life, of course! I mean doing so in the wilderness, with no one to help you if something went wrong.”

Loki shrugged. “I knew what needed to be done, and I did not need any interference from anyone else. The wilderness is ideal if that is what one requires.”

“I am just glad that both of you are home and safe,” Frigga said softly.

“It must have taken such courage, from both of you, to do what you did.” Odin said. He squeezed Loki's ankle a little. “I speak truly when I say that I do not know if I would be brave enough to do what you did, Loki.”

Sif's heart lifted as she saw his green eyes grow bright as stars. 

“Thank you, Father,” he said quietly.

At one point, while the others were distracted, Loki leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Go hide in the bathchamber, and come out when I call you.”

“What? Why?”

“Trust me, you'll be pleased with the result.” He gave her a little shove. “Go!”

She did as he asked, mostly because on that day, if he had asked her to braid string beans into her hair and dance like a chicken, she would have.

She stayed in the bathchamber, sitting on the edge of the black onyx tub, until she heard him call for her. When she emerged, the room was empty.

“Where did everyone go?”

“Eir flung everyone out, saying that I need to rest.”

“That sounds wise.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Sleep well.”

He frowned at that. “Where are you going?”

“To bed, myself. I am exhausted.”

“I'm sure you are, but there is a perfectly good bed, right here.” He patted the mattress beside him invitingly.

“Don't be absurd! There are sure to be healers in and out of here all night.”

“I do not think there will be; I am supposed to be resting, after all. And if anyone does happen to come in, I can hide you with an illusion.”

“And what if someone goes to my rooms looking for me?”

“They will see you there, fast asleep.” He raised his right hand, and wiggled his fingers. “Illusion.”

“Won't working that much magic tire you?”

“No more than breathing does.”

Sif shook her head. “I do not think this is a good idea. I will stay with you tomorrow night, perhaps.”

Loki gave a theatrical sigh, and seemed to wilt against the pillows.

“As you wish,” he said feebly. “It is of no consequence. I will be unable to sleep without you, of course, and in my weakened state, I will quickly begin to fade from lack of rest. But that hardly matters, as long as the rules of propriety have been observed. And just think of what a fine ballad it will make some day, the song of the prince who met his end through the cruelty of his fair lady love...”

Sif tried not to smile, and failed. “Oh, I think you will be shocked at your own resilience.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked up at her. His eyes were empty of all calculation or guile. When he spoke his voice held a soft note of genuine weakness.

“Please, Sif. I truly will not be able to sleep without you, and I am so weary.” He held a hand out to her. “And I have dreamed of this for so long, of lying in my bed with you in my arms.”

Of course, that was more than she could stand. She pulled her boots and trousers off, and stuffed them under the bed, grumbling all the while.

“You are horribly, horribly manipulative, you know.”

“So I have been told.” He scooted over and threw back the covers for her. When she was settled he reached for her with both hands.

She threw him a suspicious look. “All we are going to do here is sleep, yes?”

“Yes, as much as it pains me. I do not think I have ever been so tired in all my life.”

“I know, poor thing.” He was better, so much better, but it still broke her heart to see him so weak and exhausted.

He pulled her close, and settled back on the pillows with a sigh. “You must stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me and talking to me as if I am some sort of adorable little creature that is broken.”

She hid her face in his shoulder, breathing in the warm, frankincense scent of him. “You are an adorable little creature, and I very nearly broke you.”

“I am nothing of the sort, and you know it. I am a conniving, heartless, sexual deviant of considerable height.”

She giggled a little, and hugged him closer. “That may be, but I adore you, anyway. Go to sleep, Loki.”

“I adore you, too,” he whispered. “Sleep well, my love.”

And she did.

For a while, anyway.

 

Only a few hours had passed when Sif was awakened by the sound of the door to Loki's sitting room opening. In a second she was wide awake. Loki, still deep in an exhausted sleep, had not heard anything. 

She shook him awake. “Someone is coming!” she whispered.

He did not look concerned. “Just lie still and quiet, and I will hide you,” he said with a yawn.

She pulled the covers up to her eyes and went stock still, just as the door opened.

It was not one of the healers, but Frigga who entered.

She glided up to the bed, and smiled down at her son. “I am so sorry to wake you, my love, but Eir has a draught for you to drink, and I wanted an excuse to come and check on you. How are you feeling?”

“I am much better.”

She examined him with a critical eye. “I will feel much easier when there is some color in your face, and you are no longer so thin.” She touched his cheek gently. “My poor boy, you look so weary and worn.”

He took her hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Don't worry about me, Mama. I will be completely well, very soon.”

(Sif noted for future reference that he still called Frigga “Mama” in private. That was both absolutely precious and something for which she planned to mock him mercilessly.)

“I know that you will, but I am your mother, and worrying about you is my chief function. Here is your medicine, and I'll pour you a little wine to wash it down with. Be sure to finish it all.”

Loki downed the cup of greenish liquid with a wince, and Frigga rose and went to the table on the opposite wall to pour his wine. When her back was turned, he glanced down at Sif. She must have made a comical picture with nothing but her eyes and the top of her head visible over the blankets, for his eyes danced with mirth, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Sif scowled at him as best she could, but all that did was cause him to emit a half strangled snort of merriment.

Frigga brought him the goblet of honeyed wine, and he drank it with obvious gratitude. She took the empty goblet from him, and smiled fondly as she watched him settle back on the pillows. She leaned down to hug him and kiss his cheek, and then she tucked the covers over him gently.

“I am so glad to have you home, Loki. I missed you so. Sleep well.”

“I missed you, too, Mama,” he replied softly.

Then, instead of straightening, Frigga leaned over him to plant a kiss on Sif's forehead. 

“You sleep well too, dear Sif,” she said tenderly. 

Then she did straighten, and she looked down at Loki with her eyes sparkling merrily. 

“Ah! There is some of that missing color!” she said, patting his cheek affectionately. “This is probably a good time to tell you that I have always been able to see through this particular illusion spell of yours. That was handy when you were a child, but now that you are grown, I think you should know before you attempt to hide something beneath it that I cannot unsee.”

“I.. thank you.” Loki said, sounding somewhat hollow.

“I will see that you are not disturbed further tonight. Goodnight, children.” She turned to go then, but she paused with her hand on the latch of the door and threw them both a stern look over her shoulder.

“I trust that there will be nothing happening in this room but sleep, for you both need your rest. If there are any instances of horseplay, I shall have to separate you. Is that clearly understood?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” both of them said in unison.

“Very good.” With that, Frigga left.

They were both silent then, for a long time.

“I am going to kill you,” Sif said at last.

Loki covered his still scarlet face with both hands. “I am going to let you.”


	14. Riches

The cottage looked so different in summer.

The woods were green, and alive with the chattering of squirrels and birdsong. The grass around the cottage was thick with wildflowers in a patchwork of pink, purple and red. The light of the rising sun was soft and pearly, falling from a powder blue sky streaked with violet clouds.

Against all of those pastels, Sif stood out like a drop of fire in her gown of flowing crimson linen.

She was looking up at him, her topaz eyes as bright and soft as the light. He held her cradled in his arms, and her arms were looped around his neck.

He was determined to do this right.

A spell unlocked the door, and he carried her across the threshold.

He was looking at her, and so he did not see at first what had caused her to cry out in delight, but then he smelled them.

The room was thick and sweet with the scent of roses. That was not surprising, for there were roses everywhere. Every available surface was covered with vases and pots and jugs of full of blood red roses from the Queen's garden.

Loki set Sif on her feet, and she ran to bury her face in the nearest bouquet while he stepped back outside to bring in their bags.

Together they explored the rest of the house, where more surprises were waiting.

In the kitchen they found the pantry full to bursting with Asgardian delicacies. On the counter beside the sink were several jugs of ale, and bottles of wine from the Allfather's cellars.

The shelves in the bathchamber held every luxurious soap and oil, every spiced unguent and lotion that was to be found in the royal chambers in Asgard.

The bedroom was full of roses, too, and the faded quilt and grayish, oft-washed sheets had been replaced with a coverlet of green silk, and fine, soft cotton sheets. Handfuls of rose petals were strewn across the coverlet.

“I cannot believe that they did this,” Sif said, looking around her in wonder.

“I cannot believe they threw out all of my Spam.”

She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “This is beautiful, and you know it!”

“It is rather pleasant, I admit.”

“I am still grateful that Thor and your parents were happy to see us wed,” Sif said as she ran her hand over the sumptuous coverlet. “Every fresh proof of it pleases me.”

Loki leaned against the doorjamb. “I believe Thor was the only one who had any reservations. He gave me a long, very serious talk about what would happen to me if I should ever mistreat you.”

Sif snorted. “That does not wholly surprise me, though he should know better. What does surprise me is that your mother and father still seem fond of me.”

He frowned at that. “Why in the world should they not be fond of you?”

She gave him a rueful smile over her shoulder. “I nearly ate you, Loki.”

“Both of my parents are renowned for their wisdom, so surely they realize that if you find someone that you would gladly serve yourself to, you had better keep them.”

She laughed. “You have a point there.”

He gave the mattress an exploratory poke. “Mmm, I think this is a brand new mattress. Shall we try it out?”

“Not yet, I am starving! I must be fed before the festivities can begin.”

“How can you be hungry after that wedding feast? I do not think I have ever seen so much food in one spot.”

“Yes, but that was hours and hours ago, and we danced all night.” She took him by the hand and pulled him into the kitchen.

Together they made a slightly unconventional breakfast of sausage, cheese, fruit and wine.  
When the meal was over, he reached across the table to take her hand.

“I have a very small present for you.”

“Oh Loki! You should not, you've already given me so many gifts I'm ashamed, and I have nothing for you.”

“It is not that sort of thing. You will understand when you see it.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and pulled out a plain paper envelope with Sif's name on it.

She went very still. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Indeed it is.”

It was the letter that he had written for her when he thought that he might be dying, to be opened upon his death. 

“I have not seen that since the day we came home.”

“I know. I hid the rest of them. I thought of burning them, but I think it is possible that I might deliver them all, someday.”

She stared down at the envelope for a moment, not touching it. “Are you sure you want me to see this?”

“Yes, I am quite sure. I think that you should read it out loud. I remember the gist of what I wrote, but not the exact words.”

Sif opened the letter, breaking the seal carefully and smoothing the pages out. After a moment she began to read:

My Sif, if you are reading this, then I must have died, and you must be healed. I refuse to leave this world until I know that you are well and safe, so there is no question as to that.

There are so many things that I want to tell you, and I know I will never be able to fit all of it in these pages, but I am going to try to tell you the most important things, at least.

I have loved you so long that I don't think I can remember the exact moment that it began. I think that you found purchase in my heart somewhere, when we were very young, and you just grew there, like a climbing vine, until I woke up one morning and found that you had twined all the way through me.

When I saw you in the Blood Drinker's arms, so white and still, my world stopped. I did not even pause to think of what a world without you in it would be like, because for me there is no such thing as a world, if you are gone.

I am not sure of it, but I think that I am dying. I cannot say that I have no sorrow on that score. There are still many thinks in this world that I wish to see and do. But then, I cannot think of a single thing that I would like to do if you are not with me, or waiting at home for me when I have finished it, so really my life for yours would be a most equitable trade.

I have told you this not to hurt you or to make you sad, but because I want you to understand that what I have done was not a grand altruistic act. It was like everything else that I have ever done in my life; an act of total and complete selfishness.

There is one last thing that I want to say. If I do die, in time you will forget me. That is natural and right, and I will be happy for it, wherever I am. I will not say that I will be with you always, for that has never struck me as a thing that is fair or kind to say to the person who will be left behind. I will be far from you, and at rest, and nothing that you do when I am gone from you can hurt me. 

I remember what you said that night beside the lake. You said that you wanted me to be safe and well and happy and with you always.

If you are reading these words, then the last part is not to be. But my wish for you is that I have left you safe and well, and that you will be happy.

I have thought a great deal these past couple of days about Finn and Nuala. Nuala seemed to believe that she and her Finn would be reunited in the world beyond death, and that they would spend eternity together.

I do not know if I have grown like a vine through the whole of you, but I do not see how I could have. You are such a bright creature, Sif. Light follows you wherever you go. I have always been a creature of shadows, and I do not think that darkness can grow within light. Add to that the fact that you will live so many, many years after I am gone, and that those years will be so rich with experiences that I will not share, and I wonder if you will even remember me, the Wicked Loki, when you reach the land beyond death.

At first that thought brought me sorrow. For days now you have been asking what is troubling me, and that was it. 

But the more I think on it, the more I think that is what I want. I want you to have every bright blessing that this life has to offer, and I do not wish to be a shadow over any of it.

Perhaps what comes after this is the place that Nuala imagined; a land where there is no suffering, where all burdens are lifted. I think that she may be right. I am growing close enough to glimpse it, and that does seem to be what I see.

I have prattled on and on, which is what I have always done best, it seems. I realize that I could have put what I want you to know in just four words.

It was worth it.

Goodbye, my Sif. 

 

Sif had managed to read to the last line, with a fairly steady voice, but now she made a sort of choked sound in the back of her throat, and let the paper in her hands fall to the floor.

She sailed around the table, and into his arms. If he had not been sitting against the wall, she would have flung them both to the floor.

“You are an idiot, an idiot! How could you ever imagine I would forget you? How could you believe that? How could you ever be a shadow over my life? How could it ever be bright without you? Damn you for ever thinking any of that rubbish!”

Her words faded into sobs, and he held her as she wept.

“I am sorry that I upset you,” he said as he stroked her back. “And I know better than that now. I know you would never forget me. I just wanted you to see the letter because I cannot think of any better way to tell you what you mean to me.”

At last Sif began to hiccup, and then to snuffle.

“It was stupid,” she said at last, thickly. “But it was beautiful, too. Thank you, Loki.” 

“You are most welcome.”

She lifted his left hand. Just below the spot where his wrist met his palm, there was a shiny white scar. It was the spot that she had bitten on the fist night of their confinement. It had become her habit to kiss that spot, and she did so now, her lips brushing softly over the sensitive skin.

“I am going to go and freshen up a bit, and then I will be right back.” With that she headed to the bathchamber.

Loki cleared the table and washed the dishes in her absence, and folded the letter and put it away.

All of that was for the past. Today was the start of their future.

When he had first announced that they planned to come back here for their honeymoon, Thor had been puzzled.

“Does the place not hold bad memories for you?” he had asked.

It was a valid question, and Loki had been struggling for the right words to answer it when his mother did it for him. 

“They suffered there, but it is also the place that they found each other. It holds their past, but it also holds the seeds of their future.”

Thinking of it now, Loki smiled. The seeds of their future. He liked that.

When Sif finally emerged from the bathchamber, she had washed all trace of tears from her face. She wore a nightgown of red silk, and it flowed like fire over the curves of her body, making her freshly washed skin glow with the soft radiance of a pearl.

“The festivities will now begin,” she said.

He went to her, and untied the ribbon that held the gown closed. It slipped to the floor with a whisper, and he took a moment to admire her as she stood naked in the golden summer light, with a pool of crimson silk at her feet. 

“For the record,” she said. “You are twined all through me, just as I am through you.” She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her lips were hot, her mouth wine-sweet, and the kiss lingered on and on. 

“Loki Odinson, you are my heart,” she said when they finally parted.

“And you are wearing far too many clothes,” she added.

Loki laughed, and began to rectify that situation, at once.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for all of your wonderful comments and kudos!!!!!


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